


From Russia (with unsaid)

by yotoob



Category: GLOW (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Sex, christ I've never used ao3 before what is the tag protocol?, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 85,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotoob/pseuds/yotoob
Summary: Ruth is a fuck up and Debbie is just fucked up.Past relationship and how things went wrong, plus bonus therapy!wrestling, because that's the show duh.





	1. One Giant Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be multi-chapter, and will probably be the death of me.

Chapter One - One Giant Bruise

Today.

Training with Carmen’s brothers hurts. Ruth aches all over before she gets into the ring, her muscles weary with the remorseless pounding from the floor, or from Debbie’s body, thudding into her again and again.

Today might be the day when something goes wrong. When Debbie jumps too high and Ruth can’t catch her.

Debbie raises her eyebrows at her in greeting, in this new version of a smile that Ruth is going to have to accept. Her mouth doesn’t move an inch.

Ruth puts her bag down, far away enough from Debbie so as not to cause any comment.

(These days the space between Ruth and Debbie is measured in ‘how far’, not ‘how close’)

“So,” Ruth says, falsely cheerful because she isn’t allowed any other emotion “What do you think we should work on today? Asides from, you know. Not dying.”

Debbie doesn’t answer the question, instead just says “I feel like one giant fucking bruise. There is no part of me that isn’t a bruise.”

Ruth takes a solicitous step closer, apologies tripping out of her.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve been getting my body in all the wrong places, maybe we should ask Kurt about lower impact moves because-“

“What, because we want to look like shit?” Debbie bites out, tying her hair up with what looks like unnecessary force. She adjusts her tone slightly, glancing in Ruth’s direction. “I mean, I don’t need you to say sorry; lord knows you must be hurting too, I’ve basically just been throwing my body into your face repeatedly.”

A car starts noisily, on the other side of the fence. The squeal of the clutch comes a moment after, cutting across the morning air.

After a moment, Ruth sits down on the bench, reaching for her sneaker lace.

“Well, I mean, yeah, I’m pretty sore today, but that’s just what you’ve got to do, and I know you don’t mean anything by it, and you’re doing great-“

Debbie scoffs at her, and abruptly bends over, stretching away from Ruth. It doesn’t prevent her from snapping out her next few ideas all at once, her butt in the air in a way that would be comical if anything was allowed to be funny any more.

“I was just trying to say something fucking normal to you. You know, small talk. Please stop treating every conversation with me as an opportunity to launch into some empowered soliloquy about whatever the fuck you are trying to communicate these days. I do not need any more apologies from you; they don’t fucking do anything.”

Ruth thinks that this is a little bit unnecessary; Debbie is like a cat, constantly turning away from her so all Ruth can do is stroke her in the wrong direction, over and over. 

Debbie stands up again, and sighs noisily into the silence provided by Ruth.

“Shit, all I wanted to say was that my tits are a bit sensitive today; Randy seems to think I’m some kind of snack bar. So you know, if you could try to…”

Ruth nods rapidly, ignoring the ridiculousness of discussing her planned intimate grappling with Debbie’s tits and body, even as they cannot communicate in anything other than the frostiest way. Debbie stares down at her for a moment, and then looks towards the ring.

“Okay, well. You ready?”

Ruth nods, once.

Debbie exhausts her.

…...

Debbie has always done something to Ruth. 

When they’d first been hanging out, in the theatre studies group (6pm till 7pm, every Tuesday evening), Debbie had delighted Ruth. Ruth had been light, full of the first flush of friendship. They’d smirked at each other’s jokes, whispered sotto voce sarcasm about performances that they should have been supporting. But they’d also understood each other, or so Ruth thought. Debbie was going to break big, with her warmth and charm and undeniable beauty. Ruth was going to break not quite as big, but work and work and win them over with her talent and craft and dedication. They were going to do it independently, and then meet for drinks to celebrate.

Ruth wasn’t jealous of Debbie (then) because they were on different, equally successful paths. They weren’t competition, they were support. The friend who understood that sometimes it was worth skipping a meal here and there, and the ignored boyfriend, because they were on their way to inevitable careers. And surely, any month now, any week, any day…

There was something giddy about those days. They never went to the same auditions, because they were never going for the same part (Debbie was ‘beautiful girlfriend’ and Ruth was ‘hapless sidekick’ at best). But they called each other after every one, and cursed the shitty casting director and the sheer repetition of it all. But there was no competition between Debbie and Ruth. Debbie inspired Ruth, to keep working, keep going, because any day now…

When Debbie had called her, with a long, barely articulated screech about her casting in Paradise Cove, it was Ruth who had started crying first. It was Ruth who had bought the bottle of fizzy definitely not champagne (thank you parents). Ruth who had drunk more than she could manage and Ruth who had been hanging off Debbie’s neck by the early morning. 

The cab driver had cleared his throat impatiently as Debbie had gently deposited Ruth on the back seat. Ruth’s hands had been cupping Debbie’s face, mumbling out apologies and plaudits in an alternating rhythm, like the traffic light on the corner.

“Mmmsorry, so sorry, drink to forget you know, forget my lines… improv! We were- we are fucking great at improv, you remember that time… with, you know, with the lamp? Shit, sssorry, can’t-“

Debbie had backed her in so carefully, checking Ruth's bag for her keys and handing her the bottle of water she had just picked up from an all night store.

“Shhh, its okay Ruth, god knows you’ve done this for me before-“

“You’re so talented” Ruth had said, enunciating every word with the sincerity of Shakespeare. “You should be, the best, you know? All the shows, the movies, you should be in all-“

Debbie had laughed at her, and had murmured something like “Okay, well that would be difficult to schedule”, but all Ruth could really remember thinking was how Debbie Egan, her friend, was going to be a success. And it was wonderful.

The wonderful wonder of it all had lasted well into Debbie’s first season of Paradise Cove. They’d had viewing parties, and Debbie had talked animatedly about behind the scenes jokes and who was sleeping with who. The tv screen had flickered at them, filling the room with a pale half light. The Debbie on tv looked far less radiant than the Debbie next to Ruth, searching for the corn chip she’d just dropped down her cleavage.

Debbie had sworn that there was a part coming up that Ruth would be perfect for. And Debbie had been hope embodied then, and Ruth wasn’t above using a connection to getting her foot in the door (god knows her empty cupboards made a powerful argument). 

…....

There are a lot of late nights now. The basics of each wrestling move have been ingrained into their brains, and so now it is just building muscle memory, Ruth keeps telling herself. Sheer repetition will get them through it.

(They used to smile at each other like this) (Ruth used to laugh at Debbie’s jokes like this)

It’s like a half life. Debbie allows Ruth exactly this much space, and Ruth folds and folds and folds herself until she is only acting in the boundaries laid out by Debbie’s terrifying anger. Because Debbie does terrify Ruth, even though the worst is over. The betrayal and heart break is over. 

Can a friend break your heart? Ruth thinks that maybe it isn’t her question. Maybe she broke Debbie’s heart. Or, at least, Mark broke Debbie’s heart and Ruth is just the punching bag for Debbie’s rage. 

Debbie’s body slams always feel real. 

The one time that Ruth yells out in actual pain, Debbie is off her in a moment. 

“Shit - are you okay?”

“Yeah, just, ahhh, just misjudged where the floor was.” Ruth had managed to land on her head before her arm was braced for the impact. She’s feeling a little dazed, but rolls over and sits up. 

“No, you shouldn’t-“ Debbie’s hands are guiding her back down to floor, and Ruth lies there, listening to her heart thrumming in her ears. She can hear Debbie walking away, and feels the vibration on the canvas when Debbie slides out of the ring.

Ruth wonders for a half second whether Debbie is done, is gone for the night, but then Debbie’s back. She lays a bucket down next to Ruth.

“Hey - where does it hurt?” 

Ruth gestures vaguely at her head, and Debbie comes crouching down with a cold damp towel. She seems to hesitate between holding it to Ruth head and putting it in Ruth’s hand, and Ruth takes it from her, anxious to keep things simple.

“Thank you, I’m fine, I’ll be okay. Stupid really, my fault, I need to move faster-“

Debbie shushes her, and then sits next to her, crossed legged. 

“There’s a drink here too, when you want to sit up.”

Ruth takes a moment, but then starts levering herself upright. She sips at the drink obediently, quietly, unsure of her standing. Does injury mean that hostilities have been dropped?

Debbie sighs heavily after a moment. 

“Sorry; I forgot to signal that throw to you in time. I won’t forget again.”

Ruth murmurs back “no, I knew it was coming, I just didn’t react properly.” One giant fucking bruise, Ruth remembers, inside and out.

When Ruth gets to her feet, Debbie abruptly starts warming down, stretching her sides.

“We should leave it there for the night. You need a ride back? You know- cause of your head?”

“No thank you” Ruth says, the picture of politeness “It’s only a short walk, and there’s still plenty of light.”

Debbie looks at her for a moment, glares at her, if Ruth knew any better, and then steps away.

“Sure. Well, see you tomorrow.”

....... 

When it happened, it had been a mistake. 

Debbie had been seeing Mark for a couple of months, although Ruth wasn’t completely sure if she liked him or not. Debbie always seemed to describe Mark in brief, noncommittal sentences to Ruth. Although Debbie had told Ruth that they were sleeping together, so Debbie couldn’t be that noncommittal. 

This was going to be their last viewing party of Paradise Cove, though neither of them knew it. 

“Do you not want to watch Para episodes with Mark, by the way? I don’t want to get in the way; you can watch some with him. I won’t be jealous.”

Ruth says this with a grin on her face, looking at Debbie now that Debbie is no longer on screen.

Debbie screws up her face, and shakes her head.

“Nah, he doesn’t like it. He’s a bit- well, he’d never watch a soap opera. Thinks they’re silly.”

Ruth rolls her eyes, and says “Sure, well tell him he is silly.”

“Oh, okay. That’ll change his mind.” Debbie takes a long pull of her beer, and then looks down at her knees.

“He’s really bad at it, actually.”

“At what?” said Ruth, only half concentrating because it looked like the big reveal of who killed Candice’s father was edging closer.

“At, um. At sex. So.”

Ruth blinked, and then retunes to Debbie. 

“Yeah? Oh. So why are you with him?”

Debbie sighs, sounding frustrated. “I don’t know. He’s just there, and, I don’t know.”

Ruth leans closer to Debbie, trying to make sure Debbie can see the truth of her words.  
“Debbie, seriously. Do you own a mirror? You could have anyone; you’re beautiful, but you’re also kind, and funny, and generous, and every other word to describe a perfect person.” Ruth sighed, exasperated with her friend again. “You don’t have to, you know, put up with someone you don’t really want.”

Debbie glares at Ruth, surprisingly angry.

“Shit, I wished you’d stop pretending that I’m better than you just because I get to play a blonde bimbo on tv twice a week. I’m not that great, and I don’t get to have whoever I want.”

Ruth doesn’t answer for a moment, because that isn’t the conversation they are having at all. Debbie’s eyes are bright, and Ruth can tell she’s breathing hard, all of a sudden. Ruth just stares at her, words not coming.

And then, out of nowhere, they aren’t having a conversation at all. Because Debbie’s come lunging forward and has pressed her mouth against Ruth’s own.

This- what?

Debbie isn’t allowing her to ask any question, because this isn’t a kiss, this is a demand. Ruth kisses Debbie back, just because that seems to be what is happening, and then her eyes nearly fly open in surprise because Debbie moans hard at that slight reciprocation.

And then Debbie is on top of her, and all of the admiration that Ruth has ever had for Debbie switches abruptly into sexual desire. Because- fuck- someone like Debbie wants someone like her? It’s unreal, the way Debbie tips her head back when Ruth’s hand runs, hesitating, over Debbie’s breasts. And the stretch of skin is just there, and Ruth takes, takes everything that Debbie is giving to her.

In a way it doesn’t have to be real, Ruth muses, from between Debbie’s legs. Debbie’s hands are in her hair, and they aren’t wearing clothes any more. Ruth’s leg is working double time to prevent them from rolling off her couch, and she only just has them both braced, with Debbie stretched upright. Some mad part of Ruth’s brain wonders what would happen if they did both end up on the carpet, wonders when she last hoovered her apartment. 

Debbie is above her, a goddess in the pixelated light. Ruth can see the muscles in her stomach, flexing and relaxing. She can see the wetness between her legs.

It isn’t real, Ruth decides, as she reaches up to put her mouth against slick skin, and Debbie shudders above her, and cries out softly.

It’s the best unreal moment of Ruth’s life. 

…

She doesn’t find out who killed Candice’s father. 

In fact, she doesn’t even find out what it feels like for Debbie to touch Ruth in reciprocated intimacy. Because, after five minutes of the most surprising thing her mouth has done, ever, Debbie has come, grinding down onto Ruth’s mouth with a string of whimpered curses.

And then, one minute later, Debbie is swearing in an entirely different tone of voice. And she’s struggling to find her clothes and is refusing to look at Ruth, who is still lying spent on the couch. Ruth doesn’t, can’t say anything, has no frame of reference for what to do next. 

In just one more minute (just as the credits roll), Debbie has gone. Ruth thinks that maybe she should have said something, maybe? Something like, she’s not sure, ‘bye?’ ‘Thanks?’ ‘Drive safe’?

Ruth groans, and presses a hand to her face. She can’t think clearly. As the present becomes past, she can’t help but think that the last, what, ten minutes? Will end up being a problem. 

She can’t think at all at the moment, and, in an effort to at least be able to function, Ruth presses her other hand between her legs, and picks up the rhythm. Debbie would have touched her like this. Should be touching her like this, now, at this moment. It’s only fair. 

Ruth realised that the hand which is covering her eyes smells of Debbie, of Debbie’s sex. It helps, although, to be honest, she doesn’t need much help at all. 

…


	2. Personal Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By comparison, Ruth thinks she might have under reacted.

They don’t talk.

Well, it’s not strictly true. They do talk, about holds, and wrist support, and how to look like they’re hurting each other whilst not actually hurting each other (oh the irony, the irony…)

If Ruth is feeling greatly daring, she asks about Randy. If she is feeling near suicidal, she asks after Debbie’s parents. 

Randy is doing fine, Ruth is informed. Though sometimes he squawls all through the night and at other times he clamps down so hard on Debbie’s tits that Debbie feels sorry for his pacifiers. Ruth nods and tries to emphasise with the struggles of being one of Debbie’s tits, a difficult social feat even without _‘you fucking cunt’_ and ‘ _you fucking home wrecker’_ ringing in her ears.

Debbie only ever gives her information if it is somehow linked back to their work in the ring. So Randy’s determination to keep Debbie awake all night is a reason why “I might be a bit slower to react today.” And Randy’s limpet routine is the reason that Ruth should “you know, be gentle. If you can, obviously don’t fucking drop me either.” Debbie flaps a hand at her own chest whilst glowering at Ruth, and Ruth has to look away lest the treacherous giggle escapes from her lips. 

God, she misses the Debbie that used to give her permission to laugh at her surliness. It was just a routine, and Ruth played the foil to Debbie’s never ending ability to fit an expletive into every single sentence, to find the shitty side of life no matter what. 

Was Debbie always like that? Ruth isn’t sure. She thinks it started when Debbie and Mark got married, although that was just a symptom of having to adjust to living with someone, accommodating for someone. Single life means everything is always on your terms. Debbie had used to says she was jealous of Ruth’s single status. 

Asking after Debbie’s parents proves a step too far. Debbie shuts her down with a short “They’re fine”, and then strides away from her, even though Debbie usually stays in the locker room to pull her hair up. 

……

After their last ever Paradise Cove viewing party (you know, Ruth says to herself blithely, the one where Debbie sat on my face and whispered that I was the best she ever had), Ruth is unable to call Debbie.

She throws herself at auditions, playing secretary after secretary after plain friend after elementary teacher, and all of them boring and all of them no. And she doesn’t call Debbie. 

She sleeps with a guy from a bar, and doesn’t call Debbie. She doesn’t call Debbie when he (Ruth thinks his name is Tom) is in the shower and Ruth is lying wrapped in her sheets, staring at the spot on the couch that Debbie gripped to keep herself from toppling over when the orgasm had hit. 

Ruth eats cereal and drinks cheap wine and orange juice and still doesn’t call Debbie. 

In her defence, Debbie hasn’t called her yet.

Ruth watches Paradise Cove in the near darkness and stares at her friend on the screen. 

She has no messages, at the end of each day. No messages that matter. One from her mom, one from her landlord, one from the diner manager asking her if she can do a split shift on Saturday.

Debbie’s trying to pretend it never happened. And fine, Ruth can do that. She is an actress. But she needs to actually see Debbie in order to demonstrate that everything is fine, otherwise she is just radiating serenity at her four walls. 

She should call Debbie. She’ll do it tomorrow.

Or, well, not today because she’s beat, but definitely tomorrow.

The weekend. She’ll call over the weekend.

Haha, wow, where did that week go? Next weekend. She doesn’t want to interrupt Debbie’s filming schedule.

After around sixteen days of procrastination from the moment that Ruth resolved to call Debbie, she strides purposefully over to her phone. Ruth picks it up. Ruth puts it down, because Christ her side table is a mess of paper work, and how can she concentrate while surrounded by these bad vibes?

Two hours later, once she’s organised her paperwork, done the dishes, and _finally_ hoovered her apartment, Ruth manages to press in Debbie’s number.

There’s a crackle on the line, and Ruth listens to it carefully, every sense alert. She’s sweating, she realises. Fuck, how does she say hi again? How does “how are you?” sound?

The line engages, and Ruth says “hey, it’s me” before she’s even really noticed that a man has answered, not Debbie.

“Uh, sorry, who?” says the man.

“Oh!” Ruth winces with what feels like her entire soul, and says “I’m sorry, is Debbie there? Or maybe, I might have dialled the wrong number, I’m sorry to bother you-“

“No, you have the right number, but Debbie isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

Ruth stares at the wall, blankly. Message? Hi, it’s Ruth, sorry we’ve not spoken for more than two months but you could have called me, also you definitely kissed me first so if there is a problem here then please blame yourself?

“Um, thanks, if you could just tell her that Ruth called-“

The man makes a little noise of recognition, and then says eagerly ‘Ruth Wilder?’

Ruth bites her lip, and frowns. “Yes?” she says, cautiously.

“Oh man, it is so good to finally hear from you! How was Europe?”

Ruth is now lost, and nearly says ‘what- the band?’, before the man on the phone seems to understand her difficulty.

“Sorry, I forgot we haven’t - I’m Mark; Debbie’s husband.”

 

 

Ruth puts her hand on the wall to check that it is still there.

“Oh- oh? Husband? Wow, um-“

Mark splutters on “Debbie was devastated that you couldn’t come to the wedding - just a small thing in Vegas, you know, but you were top of the guest list! But then, to get that casting for that show in Europe, like, wow! She totally understood that you couldn’t make it. We’ve got the photo album through, so you can take a look.”

Ruth blinks a great deal, trying to imagine Debbie in a wedding dress. 

“Well sure, and um, congratulations. Such a- wow. I mean, yeah, I would have loved to have been there, but that Europe job was um,”

Mark interrupts her. “Debbie’s just in the bath, but I can, I know she’ll want to talk to you, if you stay on the line I’ll go get her.”

“Oh no, that’s okay, I’ll call her back,”

“No no no no no, just hang on a moment.”

Ruth stands weakly next to her phone, listening to Debbie’s husband walk away and a distant muffled conversation that she can’t make out. 

The idea of Debbie getting out of the tub and wrapping a towel around herself has Ruth putting her hand over her eyes.

And then, the idea of Mark returning to the phone with some kind of excuse for his wife’s (his _wife?_ ) absence has Ruth putting the phone down with a click. 

She then sits on the floor. 

For probably something like an hour.

From here, she can see all the spaces that her hoover missed.  
…

The day of training before the test fight, Debbie is radiant. She takes everything in her stride, and is somehow the calmest of all of them. She lunges at Ruth with complete poise and balance, moving across the ring like a panther. 

Ruth flops and sweats and tries to become Zoya the Destroyer, literally leave Ruth behind. Because god knows Zoya and Liberty have a simpler relationship than Ruth and Debbie right now. Zoya can yell at Liberty and throw her into the floor and _enjoy_ the glares that Liberty throws at her, because they are supposed to hate each other. That is how it is supposed to be.

It’s nice to be doing something productive with Debbie, in a way. There’s the look of smug satisfaction that floods across Debbie’s face when they _really_ nail a move in the ring, and that has to count for something. There are times when Carmen gives them a surreptitious thumbs up from across the hall. 

They’re not speaking with their characters voices during training. They had a brief, stilted conversation in which they decided to just concentrate on their routine, and rely on spur of the moment improv to make the fight seem more real on the night. 

That doesn’t stop Ruth’s internal mantra of ‘In Soviet Union, we eat our best friends in winter’ or whatever madness her brain sputters out, just to try and present a normal front. 

In Soviet Union, fighting is foreplay to murder and also revenge.

In Soviet Union, we fuck our husbands to fuck with our friends.

Ruth could swear that she can hear Debbie’s thoughts, about freedom and justice and integrity and whatever the fuck else America stands for.

But the really awful part, the part that has Ruth cringing on the inside and probably slightly deranged on the outside, is watching Debbie make friends with every other member of the cast.

Debbie is encouraging and supportive and glowing (ahah) with pride at the progress everyone else makes. She gives tips on how to make the cries of pain seem real. She whoops when Arthie finally manages to throw Jenny over her head. She helps Tammé tie her wrist supports.

Ruth watches from the benches, and usually sits next to Carmen, who is nice enough to not see Ruth as a home wrecker. And Ruth stares at Debbie, feeling the distance even as her body aches from the way Debbie had thrown herself on top of her, minutes before.

Melrose comes sauntering over to her, and that bitch is still wearing her sneakers, how is it even possible?

‘So hey. Heard you’ve been doing some extra? You look good. Great, even. Anyone would think the two of you actually hated each other.”

Ruth smiles wearily, listening to Debbie’s laugh cut across the gym.

“Yeah, we seem to be mustering the inspiration from somewhere.” Carmen stands up at this point, her turn to warm up having arrived. She smiles apologetically to Ruth as she leaves.

Melrose watches Carmen go, and then smiles sharply at Ruth. “It must be the mental image of you sucking her husband’s cock that really has Debbie putting some passion into those throws, huh?”

Ruth’s mouth falls open, shame winning the race against anger. 

“I didn’t suck his co- why are you like this all the time?”

Melrose grins, tilting her head to one side. ‘I was just seeing if you’d confirm or deny. So no cock sucking… any other wrestling move you want to comment on?”

Ruth closes her eyes, and looks away from Melrose, across the ring to where (inevitably), Debbie is going through her warm down as Carmen is going through her warm up.

“Can we please not talk about it?”

Melrose shrugs, but instead of walking away like Ruth had hoped, she sits next to her. 

“Hey, just trying to be friendly.”

“That isn’t how friends work.”

“No? Well sorry I haven’t got a husband for you to- I’m joking. Jeez, don’t come for me Boris.”

Ruth grunts, and then says “Yeah, well I want my sneakers back” as though it is a retort. Melrose ignores her. In the corner of the gym, Rhonda yells out as Shelia presses her to the floor. 

Ruth feels tired, all of a sudden. She’s meant to be this powerhouse of rage tomorrow night, and all she can muster right now is a feeble request for the return of her sneakers.

She’s not even angry with Debbie, anymore. She thought she had been, although god knows she had no right to be. But Ruth had this vague indefinable feeling that her decision to sleep with Mark was somehow Debbie’s fault. Thank god she never voiced that out loud to Debbie - her body would have never been found.

But the anger had kept her going for a while; like a extra set of batteries even as she apologised helplessly, over and over again. Because this was not _just_ Ruth’s fault, and one day she’d find a way to articulate that.

She’s lost her anger, now. Now she’s just left with this deep well of sadness, draining her of all other emotions. 

She misses Debbie.

Melrose clicks her tongue, and Ruth wonders what fresh sting will be delivered.

“Debbie’s looking a lot better now, don’t you think? Since she got some?”

Some what; childcare? Ruth gazes blankly at Melrose, who grins at her, amusement flickering in her eyes. 

“You know, the other night. When she came with me and Machu to a wrestling show. Debbie and Steel Horse were doing the Rodeo all night. Christ, I need to get me some if that’s the outcome - you reckon Sam would hire us some male strippers?”

Ruth doesn’t say anything, and Melrose carries on, enjoying herself. “You should have seen the muscles on the man - fuck, I was clenching just sitting across the room from him. Debbie could barely walk the next day; she told me. Ride of her life.”

Ruth continues to say nothing, but then after a moment, turns on Melrose.

“She didn’t tell you any of this, did she? You’ve just been telling everyone for kicks.”

Melrose smiles brightly. “Well yeah, I mean what’s the point of gossip if it isn’t shared? Currency, you know what I’m saying? Anyway, Debbie definitely told Cherry. And like, she told you, didn’t she? You two are so close.”

Ruth glares at her, and then summons up her dignity, walking away from Melrose and her relentless cheer.

In the lockers, Ruth remembers how Debbie had given her a half smile, the day after the wrestling trip out. The first one since.

Fuck. Ruth opens her locker, but manages to fumble her gym bag, and all the contents spill out. She kicks at her sweater, petulantly, and swears, swears every fucking swear word she knows.

She thinks about quitting the rest of practice, just quitting the whole thing, because who is she kidding? But she knows that Melrose will be waiting, desperate to see some kind of reaction from her. 

What is she even reacting to? Fuck knows this has nothing to do with her. Debbie is in charge of her own destiny. She has no right to know, no right to ask, no right to do anything other than swallow this piece of information and move on, pretend everything is the usual level of fucked up, rather than this brand new personal peak that Ruth has managed to find.

Still, the good news; she’s found her anger again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested, my tumblr is yotoob. Come find me for mutually assured destruction.


	3. An Audience of Two

After Ruth had discovered that Debbie had a husband, that Debbie had gotten married, life became a little blank. Ruth went through the motions, ate and slept and went to work, but. 

Debbie had not spoken to her for three months, and had also gotten _married?_

Ruth was happy to share the blame for the not speaking, hell, she was happy to share the blame for the accidental giving/receiving of an orgasm, but at least she hadn’t gotten _fucking married_ as a reaction. 

(Accidental orgasm. All those memories were kept in a space of Ruth’s brain that she doesn’t visit very often. Sometimes friendships are saved via healthy repression.)

(She doesn’t dwell on the non-accidental way Debbie had kissed her, with parted lips and a hand at the back of Ruth’s neck. Or the non-accidental way Debbie had undone her own bra with frustrated groans, before pressing herself down into Ruth, who had shamelessly bucked against Debbie’s stomach in response.)

Ruth was sad, but also just fucking pissed at Debbie. Her best friend had gotten married without her? Ruth was always going to be at Debbie’s wedding, was going to help her choose her _fucking dress_ , was going to organise the _fucking_ flowers, was going to leap for the _fucking_ bouquet like a salmon and write something obscene in her _fucking_ wedding book. 

She feels robbed. But at least now, she knows for certain, that Ruth should legitimately be more angry with Debbie than Debbie can possibly be with her. 

(Debbie had pressed hot kisses to Ruth’s neck whilst fumbling at Ruth’s pant buttons, and had whimpered when Ruth had put her mouth on her breasts.)

The whole thing is one giant fuck up, and Ruth has never felt more fucked up. She drinks alone when she can afford it, and lets men buy her drinks when she can’t.

And Ruth waits. Because fuck knows she isn’t going to call Debbie again. It’s _her_ turn.

……

Shelia is looking at Ruth. Ruth is staring at the television, not looking back.

Eventually Sheila says ‘Did someone die?”

Ruth shakes her head, and keeps looking at the television. On screen, a contestant answers a question Ruth hadn’t even noticed was being asked.

“What about a pet? Did your pet die?”

Ruth shakes her head again, and then gets under the covers, fully clothed. 

Fuck Debbie, she thinks. Fuck Debbie. When Mark sleeps with someone else, that’s the end of the world, but Debbie sleeping with Mr Horse or whatever is fine?

(I slept with Mark. He cheated with me.)

Anyway. Anyway. This is not… this happened, what, ten days ago? Ten days since Debbie slept with someone. So what? So what. Ruth and Debbie have wrestled since then. They’ve had civil conversations since then. Debbie has successfully jumped into her arms multiple times since then. Debbie has said ‘good job’ to her since then. Debbie has knocked all the breath out of her since then.

It just isn’t fair that they aren’t now fine. Because now that Debbie’s cheated on Mark, surely that means- that means…

Ruth’s train of thought sputters to a halt, having jumped the tracks of logic long ago. Debbie is pissed at Ruth. It doesn’t have to make sense.

Sheila coughs.

“Um. I’ve put the sock on the door.”

Ruth sits up abruptly. She nearly snaps out ‘are you _kidding me_ ’, but she’s trying out a new persona, one that swallows injustice without the slightest protest. It’s the version of Ruth that she thinks is the most placating to Debbie.

“Okay sure, just let me grab my bag.”

She throws on a sweater as well, some scruffy old thing that probably needed a wash two wears ago. It gets cool in the evening, or Ruth feels the cold more now that she spends most of her day too hot. 

It isn’t entirely obvious where Ruth is meant to go, she strides out gamely enough. Maybe she’ll go find an adventure. Maybe she’ll go hang out with Gregory and talk about the Winter Olympics. Maybe she go sleep in a dumpster. The world is her oyster.

Shelia mumbles ‘bye’ at her as Ruth passes her, and then the door is shut.

It’s quiet. 

Well, not completely. Ruth can hear the TVs playing in most of the other rooms, can hear the murmured laughs and chat of the other girls, emanating from behind the flimsy doors. But Ruth can't go knocking. It's turning in time. They need their sleep for tomorrow. Ruth isn't actually sure if any of them are friendly enough towards her to let her crash on their couch.

The lights in the reception are off. Ruth sighs, and heads to the swimming pool. Maybe the janitor left the towel cupboard unlocked. 

Ruth has already rattled the lock twice on the cupboard before she smells the cigarette smoke. She stands abruptly, and looks around. There, across the pool, in the shadows.

'You going for a swim?' Debbie asks her, flatly.

Ruth stumbles, not wanting to admit that she's been kicked out of her room by someone who forgot to take off her Halloween costume three years ago.

'Ah, no, just... I thought you'd quit?'

Debbie is hard to see, but Ruth can feel the eyeroll.

"I have." Debbie takes another drag, as if proving her point, and then relaxes a notch. "This is just... you know. A memory."

Ruth nods, and then stands a little helplessly, not sure where to go. If Debbie has claimed the pool side, then maybe she really will have to go find a dumpster.

"I'm nervous" Debbie says abruptly, stubbing out the cigarette on the floor next to her. "About tomorrow."

"You'll be great" says Ruth, automatically. Debbie snorts at her.

"Okay, phew. Now I can sleep."

Ruth laughs a little despite herself, and debates the pros and cons of trying to continue this conversation. She can't reach a conclusion, and is hesitatingly considering perching on one of the sun loungers. Debbie tips her head back, maybe looking for stars. The move has Ruth remembering, all of a sudden, that Debbie has fucked some random wrestler. That Ruth is pissed with Debbie. 

Although articulating that is a whole world of nope right now. It’s hard to be mad with Debbie when she is still sporting a kind of tightly compressed anger, ready to spring into an attack when ever she needs it.

Besides, Ruth knows that when she has real life arguments she just ends up crying. Whereas Debbie… well Debbie used to deal with anger by yelling. Now that Debbie’s had all this extra training, she’d probably be able to throw Ruth through a wall.

Debbie looks at her again.

“So what, are you actually going swimming?”

“Why?” Ruth snaps, a feeble shoot of anger raising its head, “you want to push me in?”

Debbie stares at her for a long moment, long enough for Ruth to think about walking away, and then looks away.

“Then what are you doing out here?”

Ruth ignores her, reluctant to admit her weakness. Instead, she starts on a different topic of conversation. Her voice struggles to get the tone completely right, and Ruth knows that she sounds strangled. Squeaky.

“Hey, um, I thought you should know, Melrose is spreading around that you, um, and that wrestler guy, Steel Horse, uh, you know, so I thought that maybe you’d not be okay with that and want to tell her to stop talking about it. Um. She told me. And. So she’s probably told other people too. So.”

Ruth gives up on her fractured sentence then, in the face of Debbie’s impossible stare. 

After a moment, Debbie clicks her tongue.

“Why do I feel like you are asking for an explanation?”

“I am not” Ruth gasps, holding her hands up in innocence “I was just, I just thought you’d want to know.”

Debbie stares at her for a second, and then points.

“I don’t have to explain or justify anything to you. Especially as your justification of fucking _my husband_ was that ‘it just happened’.” Debbie puts on a sad little whiney voice for the last three words, and Ruth is back in the ring again, watching Debbie cry and build up the courage to hit her. She backs away.

“Look, I’m sorry I said anything, I’ll just go.”

“No, you’ll stay.”

“No, I really think I should-”

“Fuck, can you just do what I ask for once? I’m not going to throw you in the pool.” Debbie stands up, and exhales a deep breath, as though she is pantomiming that she is calming herself down. Ruth wonders if it is a performance for her, designed to make her stay. Debbie shrugs after a moment.

“I really don’t owe you any kind of explanation because you have no part in this whatsoever, but. I slept with him because I wanted to. I didn’t want to be the only person not having a bit of extra-marital fun, god knows you and Mark managed to jump on that bandwagon easily enough.”

Ruth flushes red, and looks down at her shoes. She doesn’t know what to say, but she guesses that apologising again will only enrage Debbie. 

After a moment, Debbie says “It wasn’t very good”.

When Ruth looks up again, Debbie has already looked away. Ruth can’t see her face very clearly, but she can tell from the set of her shoulders that she is regretting making that last comment. Ruth thinks that the safest course of action is to pretend that she didn’t hear it. 

“Anyway, what the fuck ever. I’m turning in. You- what _are_ you doing out here? Are you going to sleep out here again?”

Ruth blinks at her, startled. Debbie flaps a hand, looking the most normal Ruth’s seen her in months. 

“I mean, I came across you, once, out here. I’m not, you know. Tracking your movements or whatever.”

Ruth sighs. “Oh, well, it’s because Sheila, you know. She’s a bit territorial of personal space and privacy. So we have a sock system, like college dorms? But sometimes she puts the sock on and then just goes to sleep, and then I’m stuck out here.”

Debbie frowns at her, seeming incredulous.

“What, and you put up with that bullshit?”

Ruth shrugs. “Well, yeah. She’s a bit, I don’t know, there’s a lot going on up there. Plus, I’m worried that if I break her boundaries she’ll like, pee on my things or something.”

Debbie snorts at her, and then says, “okay, but, you need to sleep tonight. We’re doing the test show tomorrow. You can’t do it on no sleep, we both need to be able to sell it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to get some sleep out here-”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. You can’t-” Debbie cuts off, and for one mad second, Ruth wonders if she is going to offer Ruth the spare bed in her room. Then Debbie speaks again.

“Go back to your room. I’ll come with you.”

Ruth hesitates, but Debbie is already striding off. Ruth half walks, half skips to keep up with her.

In the poorly lit surrounding, the sock stands out dark against the pale wood. Debbie yanks it off the handle, and doesn’t even bother knocking, just barges the door with her shoulder and hip. The flimsy plywood around the lock chain must give way, because suddenly she’s inside. Ruth stumbles in afterwards.

Sheila isn’t in the bedroom, but she can’t possibly have missed their entry, and after a moment Ruth hears a petulant “go away” from the bathroom. Debbie slams an open palm on the flat surface of the door once. 

“Listen, TeenWolf, you don’t get to fucking kick my heel out of her room the night before a fight. Get out here or I’m coming in.”

After a moment, the door opens a crack, and Sheila’s face appears. Her wig is on her head, although it looks like it has just been hastily placed there. She has no make up on, and she looks startled, cowed. Debbie leans into her.

“You think I can’t get you and your little canine freak show thrown off set? You don’t kick Ruth out for the night again, or I’m coming for you. You need privacy, you go find some woods, okay?”

Sheila nods multiple times, not daring a sentence. Ruth can’t help but be impressed, and something else, some indefinable emotion, at watching Debbie sticking up for her. Ruth presses her lips together very hard.

Debbie steps back after a second, and glances at Ruth, only meeting her eyes briefly. 

“I can’t, it’s just that we can’t suck, tomorrow, okay? So, you know. Get some sleep.”

Ruth nods, and mumbles a _thank you_. Debbie looks away.

“Okay, well. Bye. Any shit from Sheila and she can come sniffing around my door, you got it?”

Both Ruth and Sheila nod this time. Ruth is still looking at Debbie, her heart beating too fast. Debbie looks at her again, and she’s breathing hard. (And Ruth remembers, oh how she remembers)

‘“Sorry about your door.”

Ruth shrugs, and Debbie is gone.

…….

Ruth had waited another month, for Debbie to call her. But it hadn’t come, and Ruth was close to cracking, she was so close to forgiving the whole four months of bullshit and just picking up the phone again. She would pass on a breezy congratulations about the marriage, wish Debbie and Mark well, and invite Debbie for coffee. And then, well, maybe everything could just reset. If Debbie wanted to play dumb, that was fine with Ruth. She’ll accept that, now. 

(She just misses her friend, the one that understood her more than anyone else, the one that was endlessly surprising with her wit and her deadpan humour.)  
Ruth edges closer and closer to the phone, over the course of a few days. Although, if she’s being honest with herself, she’s scared of what fresh new revelation that phone call might reveal. Are they moving to the East Coast? Has Debbie written Ruth out of her life in some other exciting fashion?

It was inevitable, really, that they’d run into each other. Because Ruth hasn’t changed her diner habits, and so, early afternoon one hazy Thursday, she walks in, greets Joe behind the counter with a smile, and then hears ‘Ruth!’

It was Debbie's mom, levering herself out of a booth and swaying towards her, pulling her in for an affectionate hug. And there, behind her, staring into her coffee as though it contained all the answers, was Debbie.

“Come sit with us, come, come, we haven’t spoken since the wedding, since before the wedding, oh you must tell me what you think of the pictures, and Europe, you must tell me about Europe, Debbie is always so vague, you’d think she’s never heard of the place…”

Debbie is now looking at her, with something approaching horror, but Ruth really can’t see any other option but be ushered into the booth. She thinks wildly about throwing herself out of the window. The colour on Debbie’s cheeks was sounding all the alarms. 

But… 

But. 

But this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? A chance to show Debbie that Ruth could pretend that everything was fine? That they could pretend it hadn’t happened?

And here it was. 

Ruth clears her throat, ready for the performance of her life, to an audience of two.

“Laureen, it’s so great to see you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, come tell me reasons that you love Debbie, I'll bet my list is longer. 
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com


	4. Making a Scene

She and Laureen chat. Oh, how they chat.

Ruth is expansive about Europe, she started in London and then went to Prague on location. Some spy thriller. She was a sleeper agent, yes, someone unassuming looking. She threw people of buildings and learnt karate. She ate fish and chips and had a whirlwind affair with someone called Igor. All terribly continental. 

And then, Act Two; the wedding. Such a beautiful day, and that dress Laureen was wearing, ugh, to die for. She looked fantastic, and you’ve lost weight, haven’t you? And Mark was looking so handsome, and Debbie, well, Debbie is always beautiful.

Ruth glances at Debbie at this point, and sees the stillness of Debbie’s hands, the way she doesn’t seem to be fully there. She’s breathing a little too fast and looking a little too pale. Ruth feels sorry for her, somehow, and asks her what she hopes is a simple question, hoping to ease her in.

“Debbie, I can’t remember, who caught the bouquet? Did you throw it?”

Debbie stutters a little, but manages to says something sounding half normal. Ruth smiles encouragingly, and listens attentively as Laureen covers sweeping territory, commenting on the weather and food and Mark’s speech.

Ah Mark. There he is again. The man who isn’t very good in bed and Debbie has somehow married. Ruth asks after Mark, and Debbie gulps and nods and describes that he seems to be making progress at work, and they’re looking at putting down a deposit on a home.

Laureen cuts across Debbie at that point. 

“They’re having a BBQ - this weekend! You’re coming, I assume?”

Ruth takes this fresh injustice on the chin (because really, what’s one missing invite to a BBQ in the grand scheme of things?) and smiles apologetically.

“No, I couldn’t, I have this- I know, I’m sorry…” she smiles placatingly at Laureen’s over exaggerated sad face, and reaches to pat her hand. “I have my own family function that I must attend, I skipped the last three, my mom would kill me.”

Laureen grumbles good-naturedly, and then squeezes her hand back.

“Okay, well. Be sure to be in touch. It’s been too long! Remember how we used to chat about Debbie’s admirers, oh and you were so good at the accents.”

Ruth laughs as Debbie groans, but it is a good natured groan, the same one she always makes when her mom brings up this well worn topic with Ruth. Then Laureen starts making apologies, gathering her various bags fussily and checking that her sunglasses were on her head several times.

“Anyways, anyways, my lovelies, I must go, I must, look at the time! Honestly, I don’t know where it goes. You’ve kept me too long. Ruth! Try and snap Debbie out of her post wedding blues, she’s been so glum since, I’ve told her that she has to focus on something else, stop dwelling on the anti-climax…”

Debbie mutters “mom” and there’s a low warning note in her voice, that Laureen breezes over. Laureen presses a kiss to Ruth’s head, and waves a fluttering hand at Debbie, who smiles tightly back.

When Ruth turns back to Debbie, having cheerily waved her mom off through the window, she spreads her hands as though to say 'see?'

Debbie doesn't see, apparently, and there's a long pause. Ruth sighs, and looks away. She's nearly finished her coffee, and drains it in case she'll be leaving soon.

After a moment, Debbie wins whatever internal battle she was fighting. "Thanks" she says, softly.

Ruth shrugs, and she's so anxious for this to work that she actually believes herself when she replies "hey, don't worry about it."

Debbie clears her throat, and looks away out of the window. "God, I was so scared that you were going to..."

Ruth waits, and then says "what? Ask for my wedding invite?"

Debbie winces, biting her lip, but then she nods. "Yeah, or something like that. Make a scene, I don't know. God knows I probably would have." The last sentence is a concession, and Ruth ponders its meaning, while carefully wiping up some spilt coffee with a paper towel. 

Eventually, she says "Well, I did make a scene. Just one that fitted with your lies."

Debbie says "don't" shortly, but with a break in her voice that has Ruth backing down slightly. She sighs.

"I wanted to say congratulations."

Debbie's hand moves convulsively, and she knocks a teaspoon to the floor.

"Shit, shit..." but swearing isn't enough, and Debbie's face is a wobbling ruin. She yanks herself out of the booth, and retreats to the restroom.

Ruth bites her lip for a long moment, and thinks about leaving in a hazy, speculative way. But she knows she won't. She knows that if she leaves now, then it truly is all over. She braces herself, and then gets up to follow Debbie.

……

In the restroom, Debbie is washing her face. The light is bad, dim and flickering every two seconds, but Ruth can still see how red her eyes are.

"Hey, you don't need to... I didn't just spend half an hour doing small talk with your mom to try and make you cry."

"I know, I know..." Debbie mutters. She straightens up, and presses a damp towel under her eyes, in a last ditch attempt to salvage her makeup. Ruth leans on the sink, watching her.

She’s beautiful.

Ruth clears her throat hurriedly, using conversation as a life raft.

“So, god knows, I miss you. And, you know, whatever you need, to go back to how we were. I’m completely down with the whole Europe thing, although I’m going to be devastated when this pilot get canned cause I how else am I going to play a spy?… And I can say whatever you need me to say, to who ever you need me to say it to.”

When Ruth had imagined this conversation (many times before, sometimes in the shower, sometimes as she was getting ready for bed), it had never gone like this. Ruth had been icy, outraged at Debbie’s sham, and Debbie had been begging, begging before Ruth allowed her any absolution.

Debbie straightens herself up, and looks at herself in the mirror critically. She then turns to Ruth. Ruth can tell that Debbie is choosing her words carefully.

“Is that what you want? To go back to how it was?”

Ruth shrugs, gesturing expansively at nothing.

“Well yeah, that and to find some damn time machine so I can go back and come to your wedding, shit I would never miss that for some spy movie in Prague.”

Debbie looks away, and her eyes fill up with tears again. She blinks rapidly. “Yeah, and you’d have been supportive of my marriage to Mark?”

Now it is Ruth’s turn to tiptoe through a minefield.

“I, I mean, I - yes because I’d be doing whatever you wanted me to do. And, you know. I can support whatever you want me to.”

Debbie scoffs at her, and glances back at the mirror, adjusting her hair.

“Jesus, Ruth, that’s such a non-answer, it’s not like the last time I saw you I was giving Mark rave reviews. And you’d have just ignored that?”

Ruth swallows. “Yeah, well. The last time we saw each other was not… we pretty much ripped up the rule book, so yes, if you’d said you wanted to marry Mark I’d have been there for you in whatever capacity you needed.”

Debbie sighs at that, and looks up at the ceiling. “He is a good man” she says, quietly.

Ruth nods, once. “Then I am happy for you.”

There is an endless moment. Ruth wonders if this is how it is going to be from now on. Ruth looking at Debbie. Debbie looking away.

Debbie grips the edge of the sink, still an impossible metre too far away.

“You didn’t call me.” The words sound choked, as if Debbie has them under the tightest control possible.

Ruth sets her jaw. “No, I didn’t. But you didn’t call me. And you got married, so- I wouldn’t get into that.”

Debbie bites her lip, and then looks at Ruth, pretty much just pins her to a wall with a look. There’s something flickering in Debbie’s eyes, and Ruth wonders for one crazy moment whether Debbie is about to hit her, or-

Debbie laughs, a little helplessly, and just like that it’s gone.

“Okay, well, fuck, this has been a messy reunion. I’m going to - I need to go, okay? I’m not bailing, I just need a bit of head space, you know?”

Ruth nods, because lord knows she also feels like she is on the verge of drowning.

“Sure thing. Just - promise me that you’ll call me? I miss you, you’re my only real friend, because as you know I am a tragic fuck up…”

Debbie smiles at her, and it almost looks natural.

“I will. Something, normal. We should do something regular.”

Ruth nods, eager to please.

“Sounds great.”

“I’ve started going to an aerobics class, if you think you’d be up for that? It’s on Tuesday mornings; do you think you could make it?”

Ruth nods again, focusing on only focusing on the basics of a simple conversation.

“I can make it work. You’ll call me?”

“Of course.” Debbie glances into her eyes once, evasive, but then reaches out gingerly, to touch Ruth on the shoulder.

“I promise.”

This time, Ruth believes her.

…….

The morning after Debbie broke Ruth’s doorframe and scared Sheila away from any territorial demands, Ruth wakes up feeling the most positive that she has for weeks. Maybe months. 

She knows the routine inside out, she’s been playing it out in her mind, like the racing drivers do. She thinks she could nearly, nearly, do it automatically, could do it with her eyes closed. 

What Ruth doesn’t know, is what Debbie is going to say, and that’s the exciting part. They always used to be good at improv, and suddenly being thrown back into that arena again is good for them, Ruth thinks. It’s resurrecting a forgotten part of their friendship, from before all the recent shit, and the previous shit.

Sam sends them away, when they turn up at the gym for training. 

“Nah, not you two. You don’t need any more rehearsal, you don’t want to be robotic. Go, I don’t know. Find a fucking prop. Don’t get coffee together. I don’t know, whatever, I need the ring for some other pair today. Okay? Okay?”

Sam looks about ten seconds away from a cardiac arrest or a breakdown. His hair, never neat, looks like he’s been in a gale and then applied hairspray.

“Sure”, says Debbie straightforwardly, and turns on her heel. Ruth follows after a moment. Debbie must hear her, because she doesn’t let the door close but holds it, one hand pulled back while the rest of her still faces away.

“I’m not getting coffee with you.”

Ruth shrugs, a bit peeved that Debbie thought Ruth would ask. 

“I know, I wasn’t going to ask. I’m going to hit the thrift stores, see if I can find that prop Sam mentioned. Sheila has found me one of those Russian hats, you know, with the fur? I think she’s trying to say sorry, although how she sources fur at breakfast time is beyond me.”

Debbie grunts noncommittally at her, and Ruth can tell she’s presumed too much, been too conversational. 

“Well. I’m going to go pick Randy up from my parents. So.”

Ruth nods, and then says ‘Okay, bye”. She hoists her bag a little higher on her shoulder, and sets off for the parking lot.

It’s a lovely day, she realises, distractedly. She won’t let it be ruined by Debbie refusing to have coffee with her, because that was never on the cards in the first place.

“Hey, um.”

Ruth looks back, and Debbie is standing where she left her. Debbie rolls her eyes, although what prompts it is a mystery.

“Did you sleep okay? Sheila didn’t pee on your stuff?”

It’s funny, watching Debbie admit that she did actually act on Ruth’s behalf last night. Ruth gives her a thumbs up, only cringing slightly afterwards.

“Yeah! No. Uh. No pee. Thank you.”

Debbie looks around distractedly, as though searching for inspiration, and then shrugs. 

“Okay. Good. Well. Bye. See you tonight.”

Ruth nods firmly, waves once, and sets out again.

She’s not going to think about it. She’s going to find a thrift store and see what she can find to Siberia herself.

…….

The next few hours passes in a blur, and Ruth is startled to find herself changing into her costume, ready to blow dry her hair to terrifying heights. She applies half a can of the cheapest hairspray she could find, and behinds over, relying on gravity to do the hard work. The hairdryer rattles noisily.

From the corner of her eye, she sees red white and blue glitter enter, and waves one hand at Debbie. Debbie might respond, Ruth can’t hear. She concentrates for a while longer, and then turns off the hair dryer, still fully bent over. The hairspray can is just out of reach, and so she stretches awkwardly, and then sprays and sprays.

After a minute Debbie says “Christ Ruth, gas attacks are not part of the Cold War.”

Ruth puts the hairspray down, and teases her fingers through her hair a few more final times. Then she straightens up.

Ruth can tell it is a success by the way Debbie glances once into her eyes, and then at a space about six inches above her eyes. Her face works very hard to not betray a laugh.

“Oh-kay, _wow_ , are you trying to compensate for being a foot smaller than me?”

Ruth nods satisfied, and then checks out her hair in the mirror. It is a work of art, she must admit. She does the voice.

“In Soviet Union, hair is first weapon used in war.”

“Oh my god” Debbie whispers, half to herself, and then says “Okay there, _Zoya_ , well consider me slightly intimidated but mainly just patriotically outraged at your bad taste.”

Ruth relaxes after a moment, and grins at her reflection. She speaks normally. “It looks good, no? Like, I look borderline deranged.”

Debbie laughs at that, and Ruth looks a her properly for the first time. Debbie is radiant, and all of her natural beauty is heightened, somehow, until she is almost hard to look at. Ruth swallows.

“And you look, I mean, wow.”

This seems to be slightly the wrong thing to say, somehow, and Debbie turns away. She’s flexing the fingers of her right hand the way she used to do before watching the first couple of episodes of Paradise Cove, before she relaxed into it. Debbie is nervous, Ruth realises.

She goes to sit next to Debbie, and the rejection doesn’t come. She makes small talk about a safe word, and still the rejection doesn’t come. Debbie refers back to a running joke they had from before, about that ridiculous fucking name, and still the rejection doesn’t come. Debbie is laughing, Debbie is laughing with her. 

Maybe they’ll be all right, Ruth thinks.

Maybe this is the night when Debbie starts forgiving her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debbie Eagan must be protected at all costs.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com.
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN.


	5. Debbie Downer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This switches to Debbie's pov. Warning for increased foul language, because it's Debbie, and she's pissed.

Debbie has been doing so well.

Like, she’s fucking proud of herself, you know? She’s deserving of an Academy Award, the amount of bullshit she’s navigated in the past month, and that’s _not even considering_ the fact that she’s also found the time to learn to fucking wrestle.

She has managed not to actually attack Ruth, that’s one big achievement (okay fine, she did once, but Debbie has pretty much just blacked out that entire moment in the ring, and now she can only remember flashes of it. Surely that would hold up as limited responsibility in a court of law?)

Debbie has also managed not to laugh at Ruth, which is no picnic either. It is completely impossible and highly unnerving that the person for whom she is feeling almost unsettling amounts of rage is also the person who is most reliably able to make her laugh. Debbie doesn’t know how she got through that moment when Sam had hauled her ass in at zero am to watch Ruth caper about in the ring whilst spouting the script from Dr Zhivago or whatever she was doing, but fucking _hell_. Debbie had hated her, but also it was funny, it was desperately funny in this tragic, slightly hysteria driven way. Debbie doesn’t know how she managed to stony face her way through it.

Debbie remembers Ruth’s “ _VODKA FOR BREAKFAST_ ” and has to go slightly still, staring at herself in the mirror whilst she gets herself back under control, lest she mess up her eyeliner with a fit of her own hysteria.

It’s hard work, rewriting the behaviour set into a friendship like Debbie and Ruth’s.

(Oh but they’ve managed it once, they’ve managed it once.)

Debbie takes a firm grip on her eye pencil and veers away from all thoughts of couches. Equally, Ruth managed to rewrite their whole friendship when she fucked Mark twice, a mental image that has Debbie glaring furiously at herself. The rage inside her finds new energy, and Debbie draws strength from it. It’s a reliable, uncomplicated emotion, this righteous anger.

Far easier to have the balance tipped in her favor.

…… 

The problem, Debbie finds, is that the anger is hard to maintain when she is actually with Ruth. Because for all of the machismo that surrounds wrestling, it is necessarily intimate. Debbie knows Ruth’s body better now than she ever has (and yes, that includes that one time that she doesn’t think about).

Because that one time didn’t teach her the solid, reassuring grip of Ruth’s hand at her neck, or the gravity of Ruth shoulder charging her midriff again and again. It didn’t teach Debbie the exact weight of Ruth, or the strength of Ruth, snatching her out of the air as though it would be impossible to drop her.

Debbie feels good about the routine, feels _good_ about this first fight. And that can’t help but result in some positive feelings towards Ruth, despite herself. It allows her to smile at Ruth with her ridiculous hair and Soviet act.  
When Ruth compliments her, Debbie feels a rush of that usual feeling that goes with Ruth’s compliments. She has to turn away, because she’s not ready to relax back into the old version of themselves. She steps past a few other ladies, all in their final preparation stages, and finds a bench to herself. And of course Ruth follows, Ruth follows.

Debbie tries to remember Mark, tries to remember Mark fucking Ruth. But he’s inconsequential right now, with the nerves of the match roaring in her ears. He’s irrelevant and Ruth is here, talking to her like nothing has changed.

…….

The fight is going well, and Debbie never had this on that stupid tv show, never had the roar of the crowd thrumming in her veins. They _hate_ Ruth, which means they love her even more, and Debbie is grateful to Ruth, somehow, ridiculously, for absorbing all that hate. For allowing Debbie space to be cheered indiscriminately.

The more Ruth is hated the more Debbie finds the opposite emotion swelling inside her, because this is a _gift_ from Ruth. This is adulation that she’d never achieve without Ruth’s Soviet skit. 

It comes pretty close to absolution, and Debbie finds herself wondering whether this should be enough. Whether she should drop hostilities and ask Ruth for a drink, even as she throws Ruth to the floor with a resounding slam.Even as she climbs the ropes, ready to throw herself on top of Ruth.

But then she sees Mark, looking at her with his usual pudgy face of disappointment. And all the victory drains in one moment. 

And here is the shame.

……

Debbie hadn’t known that shame could be more than an emotion. But it had been a sensation as well as an emotion, itching her fingertips with every move. It had been a flavour as well as an emotion, ruining her coffee with every mouthful.

She’d acted on impulse, that night when her and Ruth had fucked. Debbie had been building to a crash for many months, and Ruth had given her too many compliments at once. It had been the final courage that she’d needed, to try and snatch intimacy beyond the usual boundaries of friendship.

Ruth had complied, and allowed. And _played along_ Debbie had thought bitterly, the shame clawing at her insides. Ruth had seen what Debbie needed, and had given it. What a good _friend_. Hell, Debbie had barely given Ruth any chance to protest. She’d just thrown herself at her friend, expectant and demanding.

And then… she’d lost her head. That was the only possible explanation. Her boundaries were always lower with Ruth than anyone else, and she’d allowed herself to relax, to just be in the moment. Because it had felt so good, oh it had felt so _good_.

Debbie had known that sex was supposed to be good, not highly stressful. She’d just not experienced that until Ruth had put her mouth between her legs.  
“Fuck, _fuck_ ” she says to herself, because the memory has made her spill coffee grains all over her work top. She finds a wet rag, and wipes down the mess, trying to not let her fingers shake.

It’s been a week since that night. Debbie is waiting to feel normal again, because then she can call Ruth and say “Wow, that was crazy, huh?”. And then she can just wait for Ruth to react, and the ball can be in her court. 

But she doesn’t know how long she’ll have to wait, because she can track literally no change in her levels of embarrassment. For all Debbie can tell, she’s still naked and darting around Ruth’s apartment trying to find her bra, using every ounce of her being to avoid crying with humiliation. 

If only Ruth had said something… but it is done now, and that is that. 

Debbie can’t call Ruth, because obviously that is for when she doesn’t feel utterly mortified.

Instead, she calls Mark. 

….

And then, two and a half months later, Debbie is walking down the aisle.

This will fix it, she remembers thinking. After this, I’ll be able to think about looking Ruth in the eye again.

Mark is looking slightly too hot and slightly too tight in his hastily bought suit, standing next to the flowers which are already wilting in the heat. Debbie remembers that Mark is decent, and caring, and both respectful and respectable. 

He looks like he can’t believe his luck.

This will fix it, Debbie thinks, as she says “I do.”

In the back of her mind Ruth is rolling her eyes and yelling at her for being even more melodramatic that the crappy soaps. And Debbie knows that Ruth will be angry at her. 

But at least this will change the conversation. They’ll have something else to talk about other than Debbie displaying all of her weakness at once. 

…….

And then Debbie still hadn’t called Ruth, because Ruth hadn’t called Debbie. A self fulfilling prophecy. A self forfeiting prophecy.

Maybe this was how their friendship will end. Debbie keeps spinning bullshit to her mom about Ruth’s Europe job, and thank god her mom doesn’t actually listen to other people contributions to conversation, because Debbie is sure that she’s contradicted herself a hundred times. 

Mark listens more carefully, but knows so little about the acting world, cares so little about it, that Debbie can get away with it in a different way. He smiles blandly, as Debbie tries to paint a coherent picture as to why he’s never met Ruth, this wonderful friend that he’s heard so much about from Debbie’s mom. Fuck knows if he had any idea, or the slightest actual concern about Debbie’s field of work, he’d spot that the only logical reason for Ruth to be away this long would involve some kind of Star Wars like franchise.

Debbie knows that it is not healthy to be this bitter about her marriage already, but she _chose_ this. The least she can do is grin and bear it. Project married bliss.

When Mark had called through the bathroom door that Ruth was waiting on the line, Debbie had frozen.

(If she was going for full disclosure, she’d been in the act of touching herself, whilst definitely not thinking of Mark)

Shit. Shit.

“Uh, just a minute! Tell her… uh, just a minute.”

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

Maybe she could pretend to faint? Or, uh, jam the lock somehow? Fuck. How does she explain to Mark that she’s not taking the call, when just half an hour earlier she was talking blandly over salad about how great it would be to speak to Ruth again?

“Just a minute!”

She levers herself out of the water, and wraps a towel around herself. And now, now is the moment to slip on the bath water and jar her knee or somehow else incapacitate herself.

“Uh, just coming…”

Fuck fuck Mark will have asked Ruth about Europe, because that’s the kind of nice guy he is. _And_ he will have referenced the wedding, _fuck_ why didn’t she think of the possibility of Ruth calling her?

 _Fuck_ and even if Ruth has somehow played along with all of that with zero warning, how is she meant to have a conversation with Mark lurking in the background? What’s the secret code for ‘sorry I freaked out about the effortless way you rocked my world, and whoops sorry I forgot to invite you to my wedding”.

Debbie is actually eyeing the window, actually considering shimmying down the drainpipe nude because that’s the kind of healthy grip she has on reality these days. But then Mark calls through the door again. 

“Sorry babe, I just tried to let her know you were coming and the line has cut out.”

Debbie freezes, teetering on chaos.

“Uh, oh. Wow, uh. Must be, I mean, we really should change our phone company, shit, what shitty thing to happen. Fuck. Of all the fucked up, fucking things. Fuck.”

She must sound deranged. Maybe she actually is. Debbie follows this up with another sentence, hopefully slightly more normal.

“But, uh, how did she sound?”

Mark replies sounding completely straightforward, and that’s one of his finest qualities in Debbie’s opinion. No imagination.

“Yeah, fine. Bit jet-lagged, maybe. I think she must have just got back. I asked her how the Europe thing went, she said good. So that’s good.”

Some of the pressure on Debbie’s chest eases slightly, and she sits on the edge of the bath, suddenly weak.

“Yeah? That’s good. I’ll uh, I’ll call her back once I’ve finished in here. And um, babe? Can you, do you mind nipping to the store? I need, um. More razors?”

Mark agrees to the twenty minute errand easily, and by the time he comes back, Debbie’s managed to calm down. She lets him know that her and Ruth have had a quick chat, great to finally speak to her, but she’s completely beat so they’re going to meet up later in the week for a catch up.

It’s unnerving, how easily she lies, how easily she creates lies to fit reality. But she is an actress, she supposes. 

Professional liar.

…….

Debbie lives for a little longer, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for a little longer.

Waiting for Ruth’s next call. 

Hopefully, she thinks, in a dull, broken sort of manner, hopefully Ruth will be so angry that she’ll never call her again. 

And now the shame has taken hold of her in a completely new way, growing on her soul like ivy.

……..

And now she’s in the changing rooms, clutching Mark’s divorce papers in one hand, fighting off the urge to scream with every other part of her.

Because Mark has taken all the anger out of her, with his shitty, flouncing delivery of the divorce papers. How _dare_ he be angry with her? How dare he snatch her moment of victory from her, and shame her for wanting to do this, wanting the cheers of the crowd and the closeness of Ruth, for all the fucked up nature of the situation?

Debbie wants to weep. Or scream. Or find some other way to drown out the shame, the shame that’s been following her, held off by her anger.  
She can’t be here. She can’t face Ruth, because she’ll just end up crying, and then apologising. If she starts apologising, she doesn’t know where she’ll stop. 

Sometimes the best solution is to run the _fuck_ away.

She yanks open her locker, and crams everything into her bag, everything damn thing because Christ knows if she’ll be back. The divorce papers go in last, on top, like they are important and worth protecting. She can hear the applause of the crowd, distant and unreal and not for her.

And then she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN
> 
> Find me at yotoob.tumblr.com. Come tell me things.


	6. The Wrong Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out, divorce papers need witnessing.

Debbie drives to a parking lot, and kills the ignition. She thinks long and hard about getting out the divorce papers and reading through them. But maybe she’d just rip them up in a fit of frustration. And Mark might never give her divorce papers again.

She can’t count the number of times she’s wasted an hour in a parking lot. Times when she just couldn’t face doing a long evening with Mark, with his bland, utterly inconsequential churnings on how his day was and how his career is going.

Debbie would have scoffed if she’d been accused of hiding from him, because if ever there was an unthreatening man, it’s Mark. It is very difficult to be afraid of a man with zero personality, zero signs of passion.

But she has been hiding, ticking down the minutes until she is alone again, burning through her life with the enthusiasm of kerosene. 

Until Debbie discovered that Mark had cheated, and then, for one glorious moment, Debbie had a reason to be angry. She’d been able to draw herself up to her fullest height, and able to demand that he get out of the house, and _he’d_ been in the wrong. Debbie was full of righteous anger, and he, _he_ was the fuck up with the unfaithful thoughts and actions.

It was a wonderful, elated feeling. Debbie was going to serve him with divorce papers, for good reason. And yes, things would be difficult with Randy, but christ knows bringing a child up in a loveless marriage has it’s own impacts. And Debbie would be free.

In fact, she was already imagining telling Ruth. She was imagining how Ruth would react. Because surely, _surely_ now Mark had proven himself to be human garbage, Ruth would finally have something honest to say about him. Something honest to say about the whole marriage, which might lead back to the triggers for the marriage, which might lead back to a couch and a night still burned onto Debbie’s mind.

Three years is a long time to put off having an honest conversation. Besides, there had been moments, recently. Between her and Ruth. Moments which had built little towers of hope in Debbie’s heart, reaching for the sky.

Maybe Ruth felt the same way. And maybe, if only Debbie could be brave enough to do _something_ again, well. Maybe Ruth would kiss her back.

It had been almost impossible not to grin, as she’d given Mark his marching orders. But then, stupidly, because she’d been trying to play the role of wronged wife too convincingly, Debbie had asked the wrong question. 

And the wrong name had limped miserably from Mark’s lips.

“Ruth.”

And suddenly Debbie wasn’t acting any more.

……

After the diner, and the first reunion with Ruth and that horrifying conversation with her mom, Debbie had driven to a parking lot and sat in her car for three hours.

It takes about an hour for her fingers to stop trembling, and then after that its just a question of getting her brain to stop trembling. To convince herself that she doesn’t have to leave the state and start over again.

God, her mom. Usually her mom misses all but the most basis details of her surroundings. Debbie can’t count the number of times her mom has just stepped out into traffic because she’s too focused on chit chatting about the latest scandal in Hollywood, only to be yanked back by Debbie, or to bring an intersection to a screeching halt.

But oh no, the one time Debbie needed her mom to be blind, there she is, 20/20, zoning in on Ruth like a fucking _hawk_.

This is it, Debbie remembers thinking. This is when the whole pack of lies comes tumbling down. Her mom will keep asking questions, and Ruth will answer them, and unpick the entire mess, until Debbie is naked in Ruth’s apartment again with nowhere to hide.

It’d be a relief, maybe. Debbie could stop lying, and resort to honesty because there’d be nowhere else to hide. Let Ruth take all the powers of decision making away from her, because if the last nearly five months have taught her anything, its that Debbie shouldn’t be trusted to make a choice. 

A big show down in a diner. They’d yell at each other, maybe. Or, most likely, Ruth would just yell at Debbie. That’s certainly what Debbie would have done, if the roles were reversed. 

After a couple of minutes of not being able to hear anything but a buzzing in her ears, Debbie had realised that Ruth is talking calmly to her mom. Amicably. There’s a smile on her face that looks like her usual smile. Debbie is puzzled. Maybe Ruth actually did go to Europe, in the most freakish of all coincidences? Or maybe this was all a really fucked up dream, that Debbie is just waking up from now.

Ruth asks her a question, and she jolts, tries to remember how to answer normally, tries to remember the correct answer.

“Yeah, um, he’s fine. Great. He’s doing great.”

Ruth smiles brightly at her, but there is a little dip of her head before she responds, and that’s a tell Debbie is familiar with. Ruth is acting. She’s going along with all of Debbie’s bullshit. And she does it like a pro, sweeping Debbie’s mom along in conversation until her mom starts making apologies, and then leaves them to it.

And now the anger would come, Debbie decided. Ruth’s been lulling her into a false sense of security, just to get her alone. Just to make sure there are no distractions.

But then, even then, Ruth just seems relaxed. She’s a bit pissed maybe, but not _enough_. Debbie wants more. Hell, she feels like she deserves more. Forgiveness only comes this easy if the mistake didn’t actually matter, didn’t actually mean anything. Doesn’t Debbie merit at least a fucking frown?

Debbie had tried to remember everything she knows about Ruth, how adverse she is to conflict, how she uses forgiveness as a way of fixing problems. But she still feels empty, robbed, in a way, of a bit of passion.

Still, it doesn’t stop Debbie from nearly flipping the table when Ruth offers her congratulations, and she runs to the bathroom, the scream clawing at her throat. Why does she feel like she’s about to burn up from sheer emotional trauma, whilst Ruth is only mildly vexed? Why is it so fucking _easy_ for Ruth to move the fuck on? Doesn’t it matter to her? Doesn’t Debbie matter?

A good two minute cry eases some of the pressure inside her, and it gives time for Debbie to remember that she is an actress too. Maybe Ruth has got the right idea. Maybe they can just act their way back to normality, or a version of normal in which Debbie doesn’t feel like she’s about to turn inside out every time she meets Ruth’s eye.

An aerobics class, is what she manages. She manages to invite Ruth to an aerobics class.

That’ll fix it, she thinks to herself, bitterly, alone in her car. 

And then she starts crying again.

……..

And of course, in the here and now, Debbie has just abandoned a wrestling match. It’s not the same as walking out of Ruth’s apartment a few minutes after they fucked, but it is probably up there. It is still walking away, when Debbie knows she probably should have stayed. It is still leaving Ruth.

All of her stuff is at the motel. Randy is with her mom. Mark is, fuck knows. Wherever the fuck he is she doesn’t need to think about him any more.

She roots in her bag for the divorce papers, and flips to the back page. It’s not an ideal set of circumstances, this, but it is still a divorce. It’s still a way out.

Pen, pen, she needs a pen.

She’s frantic now, no pen in her bag, no pen in the glove compartment, side doors, handbag, fuck _fuck_. Her whole life is a series of impossible challenges.

Fuck. She sits back in her seat, trying to breath deeply. 

She’ll go to the motel. There’ll be a pen there.

And some clothes, because she can’t start a new life just wearing a fucking glitter covered leotard and a coat.

…….

She waits, feeling ridiculously furtive, to see if there’s any sign of movement from any of the other rooms. Being the ‘star’ means that Debbie has her own room, but that doesn’t prevent her from flinching from meeting one of the other girls. Debbie ruined the show, she can understand that now, although it didn’t seem important at the time.

Debbie darts into her room, trying not to make any noise with her keys. She closes the door behind her, locks it.

Okay. 

Pen.

After five minutes; why the fuck is there no pen?

Debbie half considers signing it in lipstick; she feels that would be nicely symbolic. But maybe not that legally binding. Debbie doesn’t want to miss her chance.

Maybe she should… ask someone.

She sits on her bed, mentally sifting through who would be the easiest to ask, whilst also not needing to make a big deal about everything.

Obviously not Ruth.

Cherry comes to mind, after a moment. Her room is right next door. Cherry seems to rise above most of the bullshit. And she is married, happily married. That’s a big reason, strangely. Debbie realises she wants to talk to someone.

Cherry managed to inspire near honesty from Debbie when she was describing her night with Steel Horse. Debbie remembers being surprised with herself at how close she came to actually discussing that sex was best when it was with someone you had an emotional connection with. 

Fuck knows she never had an emotional connection with Mark.

Debbie screws up her courage, and steps outside. She takes the papers with her.

…….

Cherry looks at her in surprise, but invites her in. Keith isn’t here, she explains. Gone for a drink with Sam, to celebrate the fact that the show hadn't been a complete disaster.

Debbie nods tightly, folding her arms across herself.

‘That’s good.”

Cherry stares blankly at her, and then says “No thanks to you, of course. You just left us all hanging. Left Ruth hanging.”

Debbie looks down at her feet, and then clears her throat.

“Yeah, well. My husband turned up, somehow. Fucking, stalker. And he managed to make me feel two inches tall, so if you could save the emotional guilt for another time, that’d be great.”

Cherry backs down easily, as though she had already scheduled a point in the future for guilt tripping Debbie, and starts opening drawers.

“So you want a pen?”

“Yeah” Debbie half shrugs, and then turns away, pretending to inspect the faded picture in a frame on the wall. “Mark turned up with divorce papers, so that’s good news, I guess. Means I can leave his cheating ass.”

Debbie knows the moment she’s said it that she’s failed to deliver it with the correct level of bitterness. And sure enough, there is Cherry, looking at her quizzically.

“And what, you’re ready to sign them two hours later? You even read them?”

Debbie shrugs, attempting to be blasé.

“They’re just a form, its all the same.’

Cherry raises her eyebrows, incredulous, and then hands over the pen.

“Your funeral honey.”

Debbie flips to the back page again, and there’s the dotted line. Then she stops.

“It needs witnessing, are you happy to witness this?”

“Sure.” Cherry comes to stand next to her. Debbie looks down at the page again.

And then stops.

‘Christ, I always imagined signing my divorce papers on like, I don’t know, on a yacht, with my new lover, drinking champagne. Not in a motel after a wrestling match.”

Cherry looks at her carefully. “Okay, well, I’ve got soda, but I’m not going to cheat on Keith no matter how nicely you ask.”

Debbie nearly drops the pen. “Christ, no, I wasn't suggesting we should-“

Cherry laughs at her, and then walks away. “I know” she says, “I was just joking with you. What’s wrong with you? Anyway, how come you are imagining signing your divorce papers so often?”

Debbie presses her lips together, before sighing. 

“I don’t know. How come you and Keith are happily married?”

Cherry looks at her as if she has actually gone nuts, and then says “Because we love each other. Because we understand each other. Because I like him and respect him.”

Debbie feels a lump in her throat.

“Yeah. Well. Mark’s a fat, stupid fuck who I’ve never liked, so, here we are. Divorce papers.” She redoubles her grip on the pen, and signs the dotted line with a flourish. She takes them over to Cherry, who leans on the side table and signs without a word.

Debbie relaxes, breathes out a sigh of relief she feels she’s been holding for five years. Cherry looks at her carefully. 

“You want to sit down?”

Debbie would, does so, abruptly falling onto the bed without responding. Cherry roots in one of her bags, and pulls out two cans of soda. She opens both, and hands one to Debbie.

“Congratulations. Happy divorce.”

Debbie laughs shortly, and takes a swig. The bubbles head straight up her nose, and she coughs a little, feeling like she is coming to her senses. Cherry leans on the wall opposite her.

“So you never liked him?”

Debbie shrugs.

“Well, you know, I liked him enough to get married to him. I didn’t dislike him.” 

Cherry’s face is impassive in the face of this announcement, and Debbie carries on.

“But, god, I stopped feeling, anything for him, I don’t know when. He was just _there_ , you know. taking up my life and impossible to get rid of. I just don’t care about him.”

Cherry purses her lips.

“Well, you looked like you cared, that day you tore into Ruth. That was a lot of feelings from a wife who doesn’t care about her husband.”

Debbie looks away, and then says “Well, that was… Ruth was my best friend, and she-” Debbie feels her throat start to close up, and she swallows, carefully. “It was a betrayal. I would have trusted her with anything, and she, she fucked my husband.” Debbie knows that her face wobbles as she says this, as the image of Mark and Ruth in bed together floats across her mind again. She clears her throat. 

“So I was angry with her.”

‘More angry than you were with Mark?” Cherry asks. Debbie shrugs.

“Yeah. Ruth… I never thought she’d do that.”

Cherry makes a little noise to herself. And then she says “You love her. More than him.”

Debbie goes white. She knows she goes white, and she stands up abruptly, brushing her hands down herself to try to distract Cherry. A half laugh passes across her lips.

“Well, ahaha, don’t all friends love each other? I mean. As friends. Anyway, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. And uh, thanks for the pen. And the witnessing.”

Cherry looks like she is almost laughing at her, but shrugs, and says something gentle to her that Debbie can’t fully hear. She’s picking up her bag. 

‘I’ll see you in training tomorrow.”

“No problem. Bye Debbie.”

Debbie darts back into her room, and locks her door.

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debbie's really buying into this new role of FUCK EVERYTHING.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com. Come tell me your feelings and head canons.
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN


	7. The Contortionist Olympics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote two chapters in one day so here, have another one. To hell with the buffer. *throws papers in the air*

Debbie somehow doesn’t apologise, the next day at the gym. Ruth doesn’t know what she was expecting, in fact is hardly surprised at all.

In fact, the closest to an apology comes right at the very start, when Ruth recklessly goes to sit next to Debbie on the training mat, and Debbie allows it to happen. Ruth isn’t snapped at, or glared at, or anything. Ruth hopes that this means they’re still in the same place, where they can laugh at Mabubifarti.

Debbie doesn’t apologise, but does suggest that she is pissed at herself. That she wanted to do the move, and regrets bailing on Ruth.

Ruth is desperate to know what was said in the changing rooms, but can’t ask, other than a feeble “Everything okay?”, which Debbie ignores easily.

Sam starts calling them to attention. He doesn’t reference Debbie’s abrupt departure, in fact no one does, until Ruth is wondering whether it really happened at all. Maybe she just imagined Debbie walking out on her again, leaving her again. 

She sighs, heavily. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Debbie looking at her. 

……

In the locker rooms, all the girls are talking about periods, having synched up like some kind of hive womb.

Ruth has a different thought, a horrible, creeping doubt that makes her ears tingle and her hair on the back of her neck rise.

She tries to perform some hasty mathematics in her head, zoning out from the menstrual chit chat. 

The maths doesn’t work out well, and now her heart is beating double time.

The laughter in the locker room rings loudly in her ears, but Ruth feels very far away from it, somehow. The girls change with a kind of easy acceptance that everyone has seen everyone naked now, chatting animatedly about last night and the semi-success of it all. It reminds Ruth, in a hollow, miserable sort of way, of all the times she and Debbie had got changed together after that aerobics class.

……

That aerobics class. With the bright lights, and too loud sound system, and the inevitable smell. Nothing so horrible has been held so close to Ruth’s heart. 

She and Debbie don’t do very well initially; it turns out that slotting back into a friendship after unspoken sex and a damn wedding was pretty difficult. There were times when Ruth was angry, so angry. There were times when it felt like Debbie could hardly look at her. There had been at least one, rapidly abandoned coffee morning, in which Debbie hadn’t said really anything but had looked out of the window for her whole time, eyes brimming with tears. Ruth hadn’t known what to say.

But the aerobics class. They could manage that easily. For a start, they didn’t have to look at each other, that was a big help for Debbie it seemed. Secondly, you couldn’t _really_ talk, other than snatched asides. And, finally, it was regular. It was prearranged. They didn’t have to awkwardly call each other to meet, they just turned up.

The next few months, hell, the next few _years_ , had been about Ruth and Debbie learning how to be friends again. Ruth stopped acting quite so much, because it turns out that time _was_ a healer, who’d have thought? She isn’t entirely sure what is going on in Debbie’s head, but her marriage to Mark can’t be all that terrible, because she gradually reverts back to the old Debbie, the foul mouthed one who made fun of her as a different way of saying ‘I like you’.

They must be the most devoted members of that aerobics class, despite always standing near the back and Ruth’s chronic habit of turning up late. One time, after about a year and a half, the class leader had approached them and asked if they had considered moving up a class, something to stretch them further. Debbie had just boggled at her whilst Ruth had politely declined, saying they were happy where they were, thank you.

Ruth had made a face at Debbie when the teacher had walked away, and murmured “Do you think she is bored of us?”

Debbie raised her eyebrows, and gestured at Ruth’s body.

“Bored of seeing that same old leotard every session - do you even wash it?”

Ruth gasps in outrage, before saying ‘Yes I do, thank you - it’s my aerobics leotard. But it is clean; want to smell?”

Debbie had laughed, and then backed away, as Ruth had advanced on her, grinning.

“Noooo, thank you. Do not threaten me like that, I’ll call the cops.”

The next session, Ruth had turned up wearing different leotard. Debbie had smiled at her, puzzled.

“You know I was only joking about the leotard?”

Ruth nodded. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m wearing my other one underneath.”

Debbie had gaped at her, before dissolving into a fit of giggles when Ruth peeled off one leotard to reveal her old one, underneath. Debbie smiles at her.

“You wore two leotards just to make a joke?”

Ruth shrugs. “I’m funny.”

Debbie laughs again. “You nerd”, but it is said with such warmth that Ruth can’t help but wonder if it means something else.

……..

Ruth stares at the pregnancy test, and thinks about Mark.

He’d been like every other man, satisfying in a vague, formulaic kind of way. As ever, Ruth felt like she only ever got any satisfaction after doing a great deal of the hard work herself.

There was something about straddling him, thinking that Debbie had done the same thing. Ruth didn’t really understand the emotions of it, because god knows she wasn’t trying to steal Mark from Debbie, or beat her in anyway. 

It was just- Debbie had done this. And now she would.

Ruth hadn’t wanted Mark to speak, or to kiss her at all at that. She just needed him to be there as a prop, whilst she thought about Debbie. 

The pregnancy test reveals what Ruth had kind of already known. Why they hadn’t used a condom was utterly beyond her. Just another mistake in an endless tally of mistakes. 

It’s not really that agonising, to be honest. Ruth is pregnant. She sure as hell isn’t going to carry the pregnancy to term. The end. 

The trickiest thing to figure out is who to call to ask for a ride.

…….

The trickiest thing about aerobics, had always been the changing rooms. 

Ruth had been shy.

(Ridiculous, really, when you consider that they’d gone way beyond seeing each other naked)

Ruth had changed in the cubical, or under her shirt, or started arriving way too early, or way too late, just to avoid being naked in front of Debbie.

She didn’t know why, couldn’t have given a clear answer if she’d been questioned. Ruth just felt that, maybe, being naked in front of Debbie would be a step too far, presume too much. Ruth didn’t know how Debbie would react.

Debbie just got changed, each time, stripping off without too much thought, changing in a calm, efficient manner. Ruth struggles underneath her shirt, feeling the way Debbie is deliberately not watching her. This is always the quietest moment, the moment Ruth feels they might be the closest to having an argument.

After aerobics session number whatever, Debbie clears her throat, sounding irritated. Ruth has got one bra strap down, and is trying to shimmy out of the other without having to dislocate her shoulder. She knew that she shouldn’t have worn this shirt, it is too tight for bra gymnastics.

“Ruth, what the fuck are you doing under there?”

Ruth shrugs, losing the grip on her bra strap as she does so.

“Just, you know, taking off my bra.”

Debbie sighs, and starts folding her clothes back into her bag.

“Yeah, no shit Houdini, I mean, why the fuck are you under there?”

Ruth grimaces, auditioning for the contortionist Olympics.

“Well, you know. Privacy. I don’t know. Stranger danger.”

There’s literally no one else in the changing rooms, which isn’t helping the argument Ruth is making. Debbie is still folding her clothes, but Ruth can tell she’s rolling her eyes, hard.

“Why are your boobs so private? Everyone in here has them?”

Ruth is going red now, part effort part embarrassment. “Well,” she says, aiming for a joke “you don’t know that I haven’t written state secrets on my boobs.”

Debbie straightens up, and gazes at her blankly. Ruth can tell that Debbie is more than a little annoyed with her. She smiles weakly, and then _finally_ extracts her bra, holding it up in triumph.

“Ta dah!”

Debbie looks away. 

“Okay, great job. But your boobs are not a secret, the only possible secret would be… I don’t know, if you had a swastika tattoo. A third nipple. And we both know you haven’t, so can you just… stop making a thing please.”

Debbie has gone red at the end of this sentence, as if admitting that she knows Ruth hasn’t got a third nipple is somehow shameful. Ruth bites her lip, and then shrugs.

“Sure, sorry, I didn’t realise it was annoying you.”

Debbie doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then sighs.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you in there.” She walks away, leaving Ruth to hastily finish changing.

Ruth stops changing under shirt after that. 

……

Ruth has an abortion.

Sam surprises her, multiple times, by actually being exactly the sort of company she needs for a trip to the clinic. He even claims to be her husband at one point, which is something that Ruth hadn’t needed him to do but she can’t help but admit that it does make her feel a fraction better.

Sam offers her another cigarette, on the drive back, and this time doesn’t take it off her again. Ruth stares out of the window, and tries to imagine how Debbie would react, if she ever found out.

She might not care. 

Ruth tries to imagine Debbie not caring. It’s a flat, broken sort of Debbie, one that is so far beyond giving a shit about anything that Ruth does that an abortion barely registers any interest. A Debbie that doesn’t care about this abortion is one that no longer cares about Ruth. 

However, the next best option is the Debbie who does care. The Debbie who might very well see Ruth’s accidental pregnancy as the final straw, the final, and conclusive reason to say that Debbie would never be Ruth’s friend again. And that’s… well. That’s not a great option either.

So, obviously, she thinks to herself bitterly, is for Debbie to never find out. Great. They deal so well in secrets.

Ruth glances over at Sam, uncertain how to frame the question.

Sam sighs, looking in his rear view mirror.

“You should take the day off tomorrow.”

Ruth shrugs, and then nods. “What should I do?”

Sam squints at her. “The fuck should I know? Read a book? I’m giving you the choice, that’s the concept of free time.”

Ruth looks away, trying to remember the last time she read something that wasn’t a script for a part she wouldn’t get. She says “Okay. And, I need you to ask another favor-“

Sam interrupts her.

“Yeah, I’m not going to tell Debbie. I mean, Christ, it was hard enough to get her to work with you without factoring in an abortion as well. It was his, I’m guessing?”

Ruth nods, silently. Her body feels strange, at the moment. As if it isn’t entirely hers. Sam continues.

“Well, that’s another hurricane of shit that I haven’t got time to clear up. So you keep it a secret, I’ll keep it a secret. The show doesn’t work without you two going at it, so I need Debbie to be able to touch you without trying to break you in half.”

Ruth sighs glumly, and stubs out the cigarette, watching the embers die.

They drive a bit further, crossing two more intersections before Sam speaks again.

“You know. You’ve been doing well. The show is nothing with Russia and the USA facing off, and that wasn’t going to happen without you somehow winning Debbie over. Which you seem to be doing. So. Thanks. I’m not about to sink my own fucking show for the sake of spreading a bit of gossip.”

Ruth tips her head back on the headrest, gazing at the endless asphalt of the city.

“I’m not trying to win Debbie over for the sake of the show.”

Sam shrugs.

“I never said you were. I’m saying that I’m _benefiting_ from you two trying to salvage whatever the fuck was there before. Part friendship part blood brother - Christ, did you two go to war together or something? I’ve never seen so much whatever the fuck sloshing around between two people.”

Ruth smiles, quietly.

“I thought you said you weren’t in it for the gossip?”

“I’m not, okay. I’m not. Just, you know. Try to keep fixing things, alright?

……

Ruth thinks that the universe has got it in for her, because the moment after Sam’s car pulls up, Debbie’s car pulls up next to it.

Debbie glances over, but doesn’t seem to really see them. Ruth goes still, considering just not getting out. Sam catches her intention after a moment.

“Sure, cause sitting in my car isn’t suspicious. Get the fuck out. Act.”

Debbie’s eyes slide over her, and Ruth can’t help but feel guilty. Sam greets Debbie with a short nod, and then starts the ignition again, reversing away carefully. Debbie walks around her trunk, pulls out a couple of bags.

“You okay?” Ruth sounds slightly too squeaky, but she can’t just walk off without saying anything.

Debbie laughs shortly. “Oh, yeah, great. Just been home, you know, get some stuff. But Mark’s there, and has been to a therapist… fuck, I don’t know. It’s an out of body experience. A really shitty one. Anyway-”

Debbie looks up suddenly, as if seeing Ruth for the first time.

“Where have you been with Sam?”

Ruth shrugs. “Just looking at some filming locations.” It’s not the best, but it’s the best she can do at short notice. Debbie frowns at her.

“Really? Just you and Sam?”

Ruth nods, helplessly, because she knows what conclusion Debbie is going to jump to. Debbie’s face sets after a moment, and she yanks one of her bags higher up on her shoulder.

“Okay. Whatever. I’m having dinner with Mark tonight.”

Ruth doesn’t know what she is supposed to do with this info, so it just hangs there. She’s sure that her emotions are written large on her face. Debbie turns away after a moment.

She doesn’t say bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN
> 
> (I will actually take a sponsorship if anyone is interested)
> 
> What the fuck am I meant to do in this box? I always tick it. I need the tumblr tags and their idle chit chat capacity. Hi. Hope you are all well. Today I wrote chapter 11 and 12 and LET ME TELL YOU. (nothing. ahah)
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com


	8. Rewrite Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie has dinner with Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I don't know okay? I've written 30K in around fifteen days. Expect high frequency chapters because I'm impatient.

Debbie doesn't know what's weirder, that she's having dinner with Mark, or that Mark is eating salad.

The past twenty four hours are weighing on her. The cutlery seems hard to lift, her mind feels only very loosely tethered. Mark is talking about his flaws, as if acknowledging their existence makes everything okay again. Debbie thinks she might have a list of Mark’s flaws written down somewhere, if he runs out of inspiration.

She doesn't know why she agreed to this. Partly to have something to say to Ruth. Ruth's face when Debbie had said she was having dinner with Mark had soothed Debbie's soul, slightly. Interesting, the levels of suffering they like to inflict on each other.

Mark says something about his dinner, gamely collecting bits of green onto his fork. He’s on a diet. Debbie gives a passive aggressive response as a matter of habit, because she is anxious to display no sympathy for him whatsoever. But then she realises that Mark could actually help her understand.

She asks why Mark felt like he could betray her. Well, she actually asks why Mark could fuck someone else. She finds that she can’t even say Ruth’s name to Mark, its there in her brain but slips from her tongue.

Debbie hasn't managed to think of a way to ask Ruth the same question, not without inviting a level of confidence and honesty which would be unacceptable. How could you betray me so easily? Why don’t my feelings matter to you?

Somehow Mark makes Debbie feel guilty, which is frankly just fucking selfish. She’s burning up, wondering whether smashing plates would actually help.

But Mark’s reasons are also accurate. Debbie had all but stopped giving Mark any affection. It's frustrating that Mark's reasons actually hang together. Debbie is almost convinced that she would have done the same thing, if the roles had been reversed. 

It’s difficult to not feel guilty; ashamed. She kept on choosing to pretend that everything was fine, and now here they are, Randy upstairs, and although she doesn’t love Mark, he’s been gentle to her throughout the years. She tried saying fuck you and storming out earlier today, and it just doesn’t work. They’re too entangled. 

Debbie can trace a line through all of her mistakes, dot to dot, to create the picture her life is now.

Mark thinks they can make things better, and that’s when Debbie starts crying, because his understanding of ‘better’ is so far distant to what Debbie’s idea of ‘better’ is. But she can never tell him. Not with Randy upstairs. Not with the mortgage repayments and the sheer persistence of real life.

Mark asks her to hug him. And then he says some bullshit about a therapeutic lean, which makes Debbie scoff and wonder exactly how much money they are paying for this new age pseudo-science. 

But he’s there, and she hasn’t got the energy to reject him. Besides, she needs a bit of human comfort. Even if the last person in Mark’s arms in any way that matters was almost certainly Ruth.

So she thera-fucking-petuically leans on Mark. It doesn’t help, but it doesn’t hurt either. 

Debbie remembers the final hug Ruth gave her in the changing rooms. Of course, that was before. Her friendship with Ruth is a series of befores and afters.

Debbie can’t imagine hugging Ruth again. She can’t see how things could ever be the same again.

And then she remembers that Ruth got out of Sam’s car today. Ruth doesn’t struggle to find comfort.

Debbie stands, and leans on her husband, wondering if this is how the rest of her life goes.

…….

The last time, in the gym, Debbie had felt like things were fixed. Everything was settled. 

Sure, she was still feeding herself and anyone around her bullshit about the success of her marriage, but that was just life, right? Everyone did that. No-one is entirely content, everyone has a shitty little secret. So she never loved her husband? So what?

Debbie even manages to try to sell the upsides of marriage to Ruth, even though she _knows_ that Ruth will never buy it. It’s a constant sort of performance, but Debbie can do it, she’s been doing it for years. Surely if no evidence is presented to the contrary, then a lie becomes true over time. 

It’s Ruth who is being a little weird. Debbie teases her, and feels good, feels great actually. She’s close to Ruth, and look, she doesn’t feel weird. Doesn’t need to acknowledge her real feelings, because hell, whoever acted on their real feelings? Life is not a movie.

(If this was a movie, they’d be making out in the showers. But it _isn’t_ a movie, and that’s _fine_.)

Ruth had looked slightly frazzled around the edges, and Debbie was worried about her. For some reason she even encourages Ruth to get married. There’s a terrible twisted logic there. If Ruth gets married, if Ruth has a kid, then she and Debbie match. Things will be set in stone. There will be no re-writing of the future. 

Debbie can hug Ruth again, these days. She’s not sure how she built up to it, incremental, gentle touches. All the time checking that Ruth doesn’t flinch away from her. That Ruth doesn’t panic that Debbie (needy, desperate, bored housewife) is somehow makes a move on her. Debbie shouts down her shame, and hugs because that’s what friends do. It is important that Ruth knows that their relationship is normal.

Of course, Ruth had already fucked Mark by then. That’s why she was being weird. And now that memory is tainted, because Ruth had already betrayed her by then. It was Ruth doing the acting, Ruth who didn’t know how to tell Debbie that all the ground rules had changed once again. Did Ruth feel shame? Or maybe guilt. Debbie doesn’t know, she’s long ago given up trying to figure out what Ruth is thinking.

…….

And then, surprise surprise, suddenly the show is in jeopardy.

Bash, with his massive house and manservant and robot full of drugs has managed to run out of money? Debbie folds her arms tightly across herself, furious that the moment she actually starts to _like_ wrestling, its now been put on hold.

Why is she not allowed to have good things happen?

Ruth is full of zeal, and determination to fundraise. Debbie stares at her from across the ring, and then her competitive streak raises it’s head. She can be as passionate as Ruth about this fucking show. 

She’s not giving this up, not now.

……

After the car wash, after they’ve discovered that the grand total of their fundraising efforts doesn’t even break $300, Debbie’s heading back to her car, ready to drive home to Mark.

She doesn’t know why she’s moved back in. He’s occupying the spare bed without Debbie having to say anything, probably in careful deference to the fact that any reconciliation will be happening at Debbie’s chosen pace. But the house is where all her clothes are, where all her things are, where she knows how to work the washing machine. It turns out that Debbie didn’t notice those ties, but they’re there anyway, pulling at her heart in a far more real way than any therapeutic lean could.

The home that she brought Randy into, where he slept his first full night’s sleep. Those things are hard to walk away from. 

She’s not sure if Ruth is trying to catch her up, or just happens to be passing on the way to the motel reception. Either way, Debbie feels half confident about greeting her. Something about both demeaning themselves over strangers’ cars maybe? Debbie can’t count the number of ill-judged compliments she’s had to smile through today.

“Hey.”

Ruth stops, and then smiles cautiously at her.

“Hi. So it’s good about Bash’s fundraiser, huh?”

These days Ruth always seems to speak slightly too quickly, as though she dreads any pauses between Debbie and herself. Debbie remembers the silences from before, times when Debbie would rather play dumb than risk an unguarded comment.

She doesn’t know how Ruth put up with her, on reflection.

Debbie realises that Ruth has asked her a question. Ruth is standing in front of her, half light by a distance street light, eyes wide and slightly too bright. Debbie kicks her brain into a response.

“Yeah, rich people with empathetic hearts. We should get something.”

Ruth sticks her hands in her pockets. It’s funny that this gesture seems somehow intimate, as though Ruth has picked up on the signs that Debbie is allowing her to relax, slightly.

Debbie realizes that she’s letting Ruth relax because she holds the upper hand.

“I’m going back home. Mark’s making dinner again.”

She nearly adds “and how is Sam?” but decides that she can’t risk being that obvious.

“Oh?” Ruth hesitates, clearly lost for words. Debbie thinks this might be the first time she’s invited conversation about Mark without gunning for a fight.

After a moment, Ruth carries gamely on. She is a good actor, Debbie remembers. No one is better than Ruth at seamlessly adapting to a new narrative.

“I didn’t know Mark could cook?”

Debbie snorts, remembering the bag of salad dinner from a few nights ago. “Well, he mainly just selects things out of packets that he thinks I like, and then displays them. I’ve told him I need more carbs - fuck knows the diet is irrelevant right now. I’ve never been in such good shape.”

“Another up side” Ruth deadpans. It’s reminiscent of a time before. Debbie decides that she doesn’t want Ruth to relax too much. 

“So those locations you were looking at with Sam - all too expensive, I guess.”

Ruth looks down at her feet, and Debbie can’t even tell that she’s lying, although, of course. Debbie has track record of being unable to spot when Ruth is lying.

“Yeah, too expensive. Plus Sam was looking at this… well. They used to shoot Aztec porn there.

Debbie feels her eyebrows rise.

“Well, shit. Another hit for my resumé.”

Ruth gives her a half grin, and this whole thing is decidedly too relaxed. 

“So, are you and Sam… I mean, I know that he’s ended it with Rhonda. Are you the next in line?”

Ruth looks at her, startled.

“What? No! No no, he just needed a sounding board, I was passing, you know. God, I would never- I mean, you’ve seen his moustache.”

Debbie doesn’t know why Ruth is presenting Sam’s _moustache_ as conclusive evidence. Lord knows there are stronger reasons to stay the fuck away from Sam, in Debbie’s opinion. 

She still can’t tell when Ruth is lying. This whole wrestling thing, its all lies. The skin, and the touching, and the intimacy. None of it true.

“Okay. Well. I’m going home.”

Ruth watches her drive away. Debbie grips the steering wheel until her knuckles are white.  
……

The fund-raiser at Bash’s mom’s… well, its’ an experience. Debbie refuses to be cowed, even in her new role of ‘ex-crack head who turned her life around through the power of wrestling’. She moves around the room easily, remembering that she’s Debbie Eagan, that she’s someone to be reckoned with.

Jesus, the amount of bullshit she is performing just to get this show to pilot stage is unreal.

It’s all such a strain, that of course Debbie relaxes when Ruth turns up next to her, spouting meaningless shit about the decor. Debbie tries to talk to her about Mark, talk about going to therapy, talk about trying to work things out. But she knows that this is a different sort of conversation, that she’s bringing up Mark because she’s desperately seeking some kind of reaction from Ruth. God help her, looking for some sign of jealousy from Ruth.

It doesn’t come, not in any knowable way. So then she tells Ruth how much she likes wrestling, because anything else would be too much. It’s a close to being honest as she as come with Ruth in a long time. 

Ruth looks away, positively gazes at her, with wide eyes and a half smile trembling around her lips. And then she looks down, and that’s a good thing, because suddenly Debbie can’t control her face, can’t control her feelings. 

She wants to yell at her. 

But even worse, she wants to kiss her. She wants to drag Ruth away somewhere, yell at her until her heart bursts, until Ruth admits something real, _anything_ real. And then kiss her, fucking press her into a wall and kiss her. Kiss her until Debbie has managed to re-write reality.

It hurts. It hurts to know that even now, even after five years of shit, she still can’t control her desperate unreciprocated desire for Ruth.

Fuck everything. 

…….

Ruth talks about ‘fucking up a real friendship’, to this crowd of strangers, all whilst looking into Debbie’s eyes. Debbie can feel her hackles rise, at this casual use of her life, her business. She feels like a fucking prop.

But it’s also message, Debbie thinks, unequivocally. Ruth wants the friendship back. 

Debbie knows, the truth burning deep within her, that she doesn’t know how to do friendship with Ruth any more. 

They've moved beyond that.

They're in new territory now.

……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note:
> 
> I HAVE MANY FEELINGS AND LIKE TO DISCUSS THEM.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN.


	9. Fuck Salad

Chapter Nine- Fuck salad

Debbie feels a grim sort of satisfaction, driving away from the hotel. She just stood in front of Ruth, and told her that she’s done. She’s through. Debbie could see the upset on Ruth’s face, and still walked away.

Her marriage is more important. Debbie turns on the radio, rolls down the window. She feels carefree, she tells herself. This is what it feels like to make a sensible decision.

Although, what is actually more important, is demonstrating to the world, to _herself_ , that she can walk away from the wrestling. Walk away from Ruth, and screw the innumerable hours of practice. Screw the routine.

Besides, there was a precedent. Justine had gone - probably coming to her senses with the startling clarity of youth. 

Sam had disappeared as well. No sign of him for nearly two days. Ruth, designated second in command for reasons beyond Debbie, has been darting around with a clip board, but they all know that the show doesn’t feel real without their director.

Ruth had been as close to begging as Debbie had ever seen her. Debbie had been irresolute, unmovable. _Look, this doesn’t matter to me as much as you think it does_.

 _You don’t matter as much to me as you think you do_.

She enjoys the chaos she leaves in her wake. Debbie feels bad for the other girls, but her leaving only directly affects Ruth. It’s the slap in the face Debbie has been itching to give. It’s the betrayal that she was looking for, to even the balance. She remembers Ruth’s little speech at the fundraising party. _Fucked up a good friendship_. Well, two can play at that sham.

The show will be fine. But even if it isn’t, Debbie is not going to care.

……..

And then, just like that, she's back at home again, ironing Mark's shirts again.

She can't really explain this to herself, other than the fact that they need doing, and she _knows_ that Mark has never touched an iron in his life. Things are tricky enough at the moment without a devastating house fire.

Collar. Cuffs. Do up the buttons. Left front panel, and rotate, rotate, rotate. Right front panel. 

The iron hisses. Debbie carefully weaves through the spaces between the buttons.

Arms, front side, and then reverse. Debbie is careful to line up the seams, to make everything as crisp as possible. Careful to slide the shirt onto a hanger without creasing it.

Randy is with her mom. Debbie thinks about government conspiracy theories, and how many Funyuns one baby can eat.

She picks up the next shirt, and arranges it on the ironing board. 

Ruth never irons her clothes. Debbie knows this for a fact, having seen the crumpled disgrace that Ruth calls a closet. Debbie can't help but feel that this is slightly barbaric, way closer to the edge than eating cereal for six meals on the bounce. Unpressed clothes. Does Ruth even own an iron? Debbie grins to herself, imagining Ruth's attempt at ironing a shirt. She and Mark would make a great team.

Debbie wonders again exactly how they had sex. Not in a kind of, _how dare they_ manner, though lord knows she's done plenty of that. But this time she actually is curious about the mechanics of it. 

Mark will have initiated it, Debbie knows that much. Ruth will have been all surprised and flustered and torn for what, half a second? Debbie can't tell how much of a hesitation she is worth. She likes to think that Ruth had mentioned her name at least once, before stumbling into bed to fuck her husband.

Ruth had hesitated for exactly half a second before kissing Debbie back. Debbie wonders if that’s what Ruth does; never initiating anything, but taking whatever affection comes along. Never opening herself up for rejection. It’s a smart plan, Debbie thinks.

It’s nearly lunch time. In six hours the show will be starting. Debbie views this fact in a cold, detached manner.

There’ll be other roles for Debbie, Ruth had said. She was always so confident in Debbie’s ability to succeed. It was annoying, somehow. Ruth thought everything was easier for Debbie.

The door bell sounds. Debbie sighs, and rests the iron on its cradle. Probably some sales person trying to convince her to spend Mark’s money on the latest plastic contraption.

When Debbie opens the door, Cherry is standing there.

Shit.

“This is a nice house.” Cherry takes a step forward, and Debbie moves aside begrudgingly, waving Cherry over the threshold. Cherry enters her home as an explorer enters a jungle. “And this house is in a _nice_ neighborhood.” Cherry takes a look around her hallway, eyes lingering on the wedding photo besides the door. “I can see why you would want to run back here. Hell, I bet the shower doesn’t tip icy water on you after two seconds, that’s got to be a great feeling.”

Debbie shrugs irritably. 

“Yes, our shower works fine. How did you find out where I live? Did Ruth send you?”

Cherry smiles at the mention of Ruth’s name. 

“No, she didn’t, I’m sorry. I found you the same way Sam found you - rifling through Ruth’s bag when she wasn’t looking. You know she carries an address book around with her everywhere? I can’t say that that’s a behavior I understand.”

Debbie looks away, not sure where to head with the conversation.

“Well. Uh. Why are you here? Are you here to yell at me, or something? Did I leave something?”

Cherry walks away from her, heading into Debbie’s lounge. Debbie follows, irritated and wrong footed.

“You are very defensive, you know that? You see me, you assume I’m here to yell. Whenever you talk about the show, you’re always saying ‘who will watch it?’ ‘We’ll look terrible.’ Lighten up a little, will you? I’m here as a friend who is _only_ your friend, not also someone who slept with your husband and whatever else you two have got going on.”

Cherry finishes off this announcement by sitting down primly on one of the couches. Debbie’s inner hostess takes over.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Cherry laughs at her, grinning affectionately. “See, now that’s another behavior I don’t understand. You don’t want me here, and yet you still offer me a drink. No, thank you.”

Debbie folds her arms, completely off balance now.

“Well, what do you want? And no, I don’t particularly want you here. I’d told Ruth that I was done with the show. I need to move back in to work on my marriage.”

Cherry stares at her, unblinking.

“The marriage that you were so keen to get shot of that you didn’t even read the divorce papers? That marriage?”

“Yes” Debbie nearly snarls. “Mark didn’t accept them. And, fuck, who was I kidding away? I can’t run away to join a wrestling troop, that’s like one step down on realistic thinking from running away to join the circus. I have to stay here, and I have to work on it.”

Cherry looks away out of the window, possibly to give Debbie a bit of privacy to get herself under control again. She starts talking.

“Look, that sort of thinking is great for a marriage that was good and gradually deteriorated. But that’s not how you described it to me. You’ve been imagining leaving him for years. Fantasising about it. This isn’t me saying come back and save the show, you know Ruth and her little clip board has got it all figured out. She and Jenny are doing to fight the Biddies. Nobody will even know that you aren’t there. No, this is me saying _get away from here_ and save yourself. Doesn’t matter how. Doesn’t matter if you come wrestle or not. Find that circus if you need to.”

Debbie doesn’t need this.

“Okay, thank you fairy godmother. If you could just tell me where the fuck I am supposed to go…”

Cherry rolls her eyes. “Well, there is this wrestling show that considers you family, fuck knows why, with your constant dramatics and entitlement. You could start there.

Debbie scowls. “I am not going back to Ruth.”

“That’s not what I am _saying_ , god, did you even notice the rest of us? Or were we all background noise whenever Ruth was in the room? You come back, we’ll figure something out. Whatever. Or stay here and iron his shirts for the rest of your life.”

Debbie gapes at her.

“How did you - were you spying on me?”

Cherry laughs suddenly, far too upbeat for Debbie’s current state of mind.

“Okay, no I was speaking poetically, I don’t know. But the fact that you were actually ironing his shirts… Lord.” Cherry shakes her head. “Stop type casting yourself as someone who gets saved, and actually do yourself a favor for once.”

Debbie doesn’t know what to say. She sways from one foot to another, trying to think, trying to _consider_.

Eventually she says “And how would I come back? If that was even… how would that work?”

Shrugging, Cherry stands up, and stretches.

“Well, when Ruth was putting together the new order for who is fighting who, she was saying that she and Jenny will beat the Biddies, some kind of Communist tag team, and then, I don’t know, some double crossing, but basically Ruth will win, and then someone needs to comes take her down. She was asking me to do it, but it should obviously be you, shouldn’t it? You could be sitting in the crowd, all inconspicuous, and then boom! America.” Cherry holds up her hands as if picturing the scene. “The crowd would go nuts.”

Debbie has to fight a smile, because, yeah. That does sound good.

Cherry grins at her. “I’ll tell Ruth you’ll think about it, huh? Just call the Heyworth if you’re going to do it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll see myself out. Don’t want to keep you from your ironing…”

……

When Mark comes home, she’s ironed all his shirts. 

“Oh, thank god” he mutters to himself, leaving his briefcase by the door and eyeing his neatly hanging shirts as if they are a miracle. He doesn’t move to take them upstairs, Debbie notices, just walks past them and smiles at her.

“I was all out, I was going to start buying new ones.”

Debbie smiles tightly. “I’m surprised your therapist couldn’t help you with them.”

Mark laughs casually, easily. 

“It’s really good to have you home. It didn’t feel right, you twenty miles away, pretend to hit girls. My therapist thought you were maybe lashing out at me? She’s happy to book you for an appointment; next Thursday morning. I said yes, but I suppose it can get rearranged if you need to.”

Debbie stares at him. This is what he does; just assumes. He probably thinks he’s being helpful. He probably expects me to say thank you.

“Thank you.” Debbie says it because that’s what she always has done. Maybe moving home isn’t about working on the marriage. Maybe moving back home is slipping back into old habits. Mark smiles benignly at her, and then looks past her. She can tell that he’s trying to subtly judge whether there is any dinner waiting for him.

“Man, I’ve been starving all day - I don’t know how you survived on just salad. I could eat a cow.”

Debbie rolls her eyes at him. “Well, go look what’s in the fridge.”

Mark does as he’s told, but then straightens up a moment later. 

“There’s nothing.”

Debbie shrugs. “When did you last go shopping?”

Mark looks at her as if she has just started speaking in another language. “Oh, I didn’t do that. I just, I mean, I’ve mainly been ordering in.”

Debbie can see her whole future painted in front of her. What had Sam said to her, that day he’s turned up on her door step? Fuck salad, fuck tiny moments in close up, and _fuck_ polite and comatose.

Fuck salad, she thinks.

“Mark, the girls are doing their show tonight, and I want to go watch. Are you coming?”

Mark closes the fridge door with a shrug.

“Sure, um, if that’s what you want to… just this once, right? I’m not really a wrestling fan, not even the men’s stuff. And uh. Do you think we’ll have time to stop for food on the way?”

Debbie smiles benignly. Fuck salad.

“Sure. I just need to make a phone call, and get changed. Give me… twenty minutes?”

…….

And now she’s sitting next to Mark, watching Ruth about to throw Jenny to the floor.

Debbie can feel the Tequila burning inside her. Can feel the resentment of Mark describing this as ‘silly’. The show is _great_ , the girls are nailing it, Mark can see that it is an endeavour of massive proportions, and he still describes it as silly?

Ruth throws Jenny over her head with a resounding crash. Debbie knows enough to know that the move will have hurt Jenny. Hurt in a safe way, but the pain still arrives. You just accept it. You just let it happen. 

Sam had called her a quitter. Fuck salad, she thinks. 

I choose this, she directs at Mark, silently. She could say it out loud, and he still probably wouldn’t hear, because Ruth is being resoundingly booed from every corner.

Here is my choice, she thinks. I choose to get thrown around by Ruth, instead of sitting passively next to you. I choose this hurt, and you won’t stop me. And if it is all a bit too silly for you, then thank fuck for that.

And _fuck salad_ she thinks, once more for good measure. And then she clears her throat.

“I’ll fight you.”

…….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so actual notes this time.
> 
> Rewatching episode ten, I felt that there must have been something happening off camera to get Debbie back to the show. Ruth knew that Debbie was going to fight her all along - she'd have never planned a wrestling show to end with her winning, that wasn't the point. 
> 
> So this chapter was my attempt to create some kind of reasoning there.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Next chapter up soon.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN


	10. Trust Fall

Ruth is getting ready, applying her ludicrous lipstick carefully. She’s already in her outfit, and she’s already done her hair.

She’s disappointed that Debbie won’t get to see her in this latest ensemble. Ruth would have treasured her reaction. Of course, its just another small disappointment. Debbie has already gone. This is already past tense.

Ruth had thought that they were reaching an understanding, somehow. The forced intimacy of wrestling had helped of course, but it was also maybe just the fact that Debbie was no longer living with Mark. Maybe it had helped Debbie see that it was possible for things to be different. 

And then Mark had turned up to the show. And then, a confusing series of days later, Debbie had quit the show, and Debbie had moved back in with Mark.

Is it possible that Mark is a hypnotist? Ruth is ready to consider anything at this point. 

Some anonymous member of the hotel staff sticks their head through the door. Ruth doesn’t really notice this until she hears her name being called.

“Yeah?”

“Phone call for you at front desk.”

Ruth nearly ignores this, just because she doesn’t really want to walk through the corridors dressed as Zoya. Cherry gives her a look.

“You should take that. Here, borrow this.”

Ruth pulls on the dressing gown gratefully, and disappears to find front desk.

The handset is there, waiting for her. Her parents Ruth thinks, hesitantly. 

“Hello?” she says, expecting bad news.

“It’s me.”

It’s Debbie, Ruth thinks to herself, stupidly.

“You called me” she says, even more stupidly. She can’t even attempt to keep the surprise out of her voice.

There’s a dark, heavy silence for a moment, in which Ruth has an unwelcome opportunity to consider all the times in the past that Debbie and Ruth have failed to call each other. Ruth is almost certain Debbie is doing the same. 

“So listen” Debbie says, out of the blue. “Cherry came by to tell me of your new plan - the tag team and then the double cross and then Cherry coming from nowhere to beat you. Cherry thinks that it would be better if I did it. I agree.”

Ruth laughs slightly.

“Well, yeah. Obviously. But that would require you to actually be here, and-”

Debbie interrupts her.

“Yeah, no shit. I’ll be in the crowd. Mark is coming. Once you’ve finished off Jenny, say something like everyone is too scared to fight you. We’ll go from there.”

Ruth puts her hand over her mouth, still amazed that this is happening.

“I- I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you’ve got it, okay? I need to go, otherwise we won’t get there in time.”

“Sure, I understand-”

Debbie cuts across her again.

“This isn’t- look, it’s just- I’ve put too much time into this. We both have. So, I’ll see you in the ring, okay? Bye.”

The dial tone announces before Ruth can even respond. She says “bye” anyway, and then puts the phone down. She stares, stunned, at the receptionist, who is the only other person around.

After a moment, Ruth realizes that she has to tell Cherry. She hurries off, retracing her steps. Cherry is where she left her, calmly stretching in the corner of the changing room.

“You went to see-” Ruth stops, and lowers her voice. “You went to see _Debbie?_

Cherry nods once, and then says “So I’m guessing you don’t need me anymore?”

Ruth holds up her hands, completely taken aback. “No, she said, she said that she’d be in the crowd, that she’d fight me after Jenny. Cherry, I don’t know what to say- thank you for-”

Cherry shuts her up with a look.

“I did not go to her house on your behalf. Now, shouldn’t you be warming up?”

…….

And now she’s in the ring. It’s impossible to hear the boos as anything other than critical acclaim. That’s what being an actor is meant to be about. Creating an emotional response. It’s hard to get more emotional than four hundred people wanting to kill her. 

Ruth has not been able to see Debbie in the crowd, but she knows that she is there. She can feel it. She doesn’t know what to make of Mark being here; maybe that’s all a part of them working on their marriage. Either way, Ruth is just happy that Debbie is here, that all their training comes to this moment. 

Ruth is strutting now, enraging the crowd, taunting them. She says the line, and then waits, entirely expectant.

“I’ll fight you.”

Now she can find Debbie, with the help of the sound of her voice. She’s sitting at the back, in the corner. Mark’s there too, looking as though the world just dropped out beneath him. Did Debbie not tell him?

“Who, you? Bored housewife in dress?”

It’s maybe a bit close to home, but that isn’t Ruth’s fault. That’s what Debbie was. She was a bored housewife by her own making. And then she learnt to wrestle. 

Debbie gives the most ridiculously cheesy little speech, and Ruth can’t help but grin a little, now that everyone is looking at Debbie. And when Debbie rips her dress off, Ruth feels a surge of elation like nothing she’s experienced before. 

Ruth remembers the way the crowd roars as though it is a fond memory, rather than being now, this moment. Debbie slides into the ring with all her usual practiced grace, but Ruth knows in an instant that this is Debbie who is keyed up to the maximum. No autopilot here.

Their first touch is Debbie's kick to her stomach. How intimate, part of Ruth managed to think, bizarrely. But then she's shutting down her thoughts, it's just Zoya and Liberty Belle, fighting for world domination.

They throw themselves at each other, relentlessly. Remorselessly. Ruth can feel where the bruises will be tomorrow. She hopes her heart will remain undamaged.

Ruth manages to think _catch her catch her catch her_ , as Debbie climbs up to the third rope for the trust fall of her life. Why the third rope now? Maybe it's a test. Who's nerve will break first? Ruth waits, as she has always done. Waits for Debbie to fling herself at her.

It's so unfair, that now, the crashing certainty comes. That she's in love with Debbie. That this isn't a crush, or some stupid confusion of intimacy. She's in love with Debbie. 

She’s in love with Debbie.

Shit.

Debbie jumps, and Ruth catches, and they both go crashing to the floor. The crowd roars their approval. Debbie lays on top of her, and Ruth is pinned, helpless. Debbie checks on her, to see if Ruth is okay. She’s breathing hard, but then so is Ruth. It’s just a standard question, but it feels a great deal more intimate than that.

"You flew! It was epic!” is what Ruth manages, still gasping for air. And then, as wonderful as it is to have Debbie lying on top of her, looking down at her with concern in her eyes, she encourages Debbie away from her.

"Go and get your crown.”

The show, she thinks. The show has to be good. This is not the time for any stupid declarations or desperate appeals for Debbie’s forgiveness.

Ruth rolls away, remembering to stay in character, although lord knows she doesn’t need to act much to look winded and hurt. Wrestling does hurt. Ruth remembers at first that she thought there was some trick she was missing, but no. You just allow yourself to be thrown at the floor, again and again.

The elation keeps her high, keeps her balanced, somehow. Maybe she needs a healthy dose of overwhelming joy in order to stave off whatever mental apocalypse will greet her new knowledge about Debbie.

Debbie’s voice as Liberty Belle is so ridiculous that Ruth can’t help but snicker a little. Ruth feels like she’s given Debbie something, somehow. If Ruth isn’t allowed to show affection for Debbie, she can damn well engineer the situation so that the crowd love her.

Her heart stops a little when Tammé slides into the ring, and she stares agog, caught up in the drama of it all. She has a crazy impulse to go in and help Debbie, but manages to remember that she's a god damn professional. She catches Sam’s eye, who gives her a shrug and a questioning look. Debbie comes crashing down to the canvas with the force of a meteor. 

_What the fuck?_ Ruth finds herself thinking, and manages to find the extra brain capacity for a healthy surge of artistic outrage, because Sam has disrupted the whole _narrative_. He’s ripped Debbie’s moment of glory away from her. The one that Ruth worked so hard to give to Debbie.

When she goes storming over, she knows that Debbie is following her, all conflict put aside. It’s Debbie who swears first, whilst Sam grins at both of them. He looks like he has access to some higher truth, some version of reality that they’ve both missed.

Of course, his reasons hang together. For all that Ruth and Debbie were trying to make a moment, Sam is trying to make a series. He’s thinking about the next show, and the one after that. Ruth hadn’t even considered that. She feels as though her whole life has been building to that one moment, of Debbie flying through the air, and Ruth catching her. The notion of _what next?_ hadn’t even crossed her mind.

When he leaves them, Ruth half expects Debbie to leave as well, maybe with a small comment, maybe not. Ruth remembers that Mark is in here somewhere. She can’t even imagine the emotions involved in watching your wife wrestle the woman you cheated on her with.

But Debbie stays, and after a moment Ruth plunges into conversation with her.

It helps her to feel halfway sane again, when Debbie does what she usually does, and pours water all other the idea that something she that did might have been close to good. Ruth is incredulous, says so, tells Debbie that they were _great_ , because they were, and she’s having a hard time not completing a lap of honor.

Debbie just smiles at her, that same smile she used to give Ruth, back when things felt normal, whenever that was. Her smile fills Ruth with hope, foolishly.

“You wanna grab a drink?”

Ruth knows the moment she’s said it that its too far, that Mark is here somewhere, that Debbie is going home with Mark tonight. Debbie’s answer is automatic, flat, and dismissive.

“No. We’re not there.”

Of course they aren’t. Ruth chides herself for even asking. Why must she always expect so much? Why can’t she just be content that Debbie came back, without wanting even more?

The crowd are still clapping. In the ring all the other girls are engaged in some kind of unscripted multi-match. Sam is circling, trying to point at the cameramen where to go without getting into shot himself. Ruth feels very detached. She has nowhere else to be, otherwise she’d go, just so that Debbie didn’t have to walk away from her first.

But Debbie does have somewhere to go, and after another moment of silence she jumps down her escape hatch.

“Anyway. I should go find Mark.”

Ruth nods once. Debbie seems to look at her for half a second longer, and then she’s walked off.

The makeup is beginning to sting, that’s why her eyes are watering. Ruth turns away, and heads for the changing rooms. 

…….

All the victory of the moment has easily drained from her by the time she reaches backstage. Ruth scrubs her face haphazardly in the sink, although the lipstick is so greasy that normal soap doesn’t appear to dent it. She ruins a hotel towel, rubbing her lips against it, and glances at herself in the mirror. Hardly fresh-faced, but clean enough that she’ll pass in the dark.

By the time the other girls start returning, some of them cheering, Melrose singing, Ruth’s already back in her regular clothes. Carmen comes over to her, gives her a friendly pat on the back.

“You did great - it looked really good! My dad said that he enjoyed it! Hey, where’s Debbie?”

“Oh, she’s gone early. Randy, I don’t know.” Ruth is pulling on her sweater, and checks that her jeans aren’t rolled at the bottom. “You did great too Carmen, your dad must be so proud.”

Carmen beams at her. “He is. He says he’s going to help me train for the next show.”

The next show. Ruth can’t even imagine it. When will they film it? They spent about three months prepping for this one. She knows that they’ll be lucky to get a week this time, such is Sam’s desire to get this thing over with.

“Anyway. I have to go, I have-”

Carmen holds up a hand. “How? We all came here in Melrose’s limo - you’ll have to wait with us.”

Shit. Ruth had forgotten about that. 

“I’ll, uh. I’m going to have a smoke.”

“But you don’t smoke?”

“I just-” Ruth stops, realizing how close she is to shouting. Some of the girls look at her. Cherry is watching her carefully, for some reason. Ruth breathes out, slowly.

“I just need some fresh air. I’ll be waiting outside. Great job everyone!” Her words ring falsely in the air. Ruth picks up her bag, and walks out.

The hotel lobby is busy with people filing out from the ballroom. Ruth weaves through them all, head down. Maybe she could get a cab, she thinks half heartedly, considering the mess of loose change at the bottom of her bag.

The night air is decidedly cool, and Ruth shivers into it, wrapping her arms around herself. The parking lot is still full, but there’s the limo, parked haphazardly across four spaces. Ruth leans against it, looking up to the sky, checking for stars.

And then she hears the yelling.

“What the _fuck_ does it matter to you what I do?”

Ruth looks around, startled. Over there, only around fifty yards away, Mark and Debbie are standing in front of their car, yelling at each other. Debbie is standing her ground, as Mark advances on her, pointing his finger and yelling so hard that his voice is cracking.

“Because you’re _my wife,_ and I will not have you degrading yourself like some kind of whore!”

Debbie swears at him, bitterly, Ruth can hear the tension in Debbie’s voice, can read it in every line of her body. She’s breaking apart. 

Automatically, Ruth stands, and starts to edge closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN
> 
> (ps the time line doesn't quite match what was on the show, but you aren't going to hassle me over that, are you)
> 
> (I've finally reached the end of canon material. I can now do what I want. Try and stop me.)
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com


	11. What a Show!

“What the _fuck_ does it matter to you what I do?”

Ruth looks around, startled. Over there, only around fifty yards away, Mark and Debbie are standing in front of their car, yelling at each other. Debbie is standing her ground, as Mark advances on her, pointing his finger and yelling so hard that his voice is cracking.

“Because you are my wife, and I will not have you degrading yourself like some kind of whore!”

Over the years, at increasingly frequent moments, Debbie had mentioned negative things about Mark. That he never listened to what she said. Or that his idea of a date night was a burger in a sports bar.

Debbie never mentioned him yelling. It’s scary, scarier than if he was a frequent yeller. Ruth has never seen this side of him, never even imagined it existed.

Debbie is scoffing now, somehow managing to stand up to him. Ruth would be cringing away, she knows it. _Can’t we just go somewhere and talk?_ “Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I was doing” Debbie says, standing as tall as possible. She gestures at herself. “Those people were just cheering my tits, weren’t they Mark? Just yelling for my ass. What the fuck were you watching? Why can’t you just admit that I worked for it, and I’m _good at it_?” Debbie is leaning into him, as if telling him that she isn’t impressed, she isn’t scared. Ruth wants to shout out to her, to tell her to be careful. But she doesn’t, she can’t. She knows she’d just make this worse.

Other people are arriving now, Ruth notices. Audience members from the show are drifting over, some looking alarmed, some just mildly curious, as this is the next act.

Mark hasn’t noticed this at all. He looks as though someone could set his hair on fire and he’d be none the wiser, such is his blind rage. 

“Because you’re _not_ , okay? None of you are any good, it’s pathetic. The whole thing looked fucking ridiculous, and christ, why the fuck did you bring me? To witness your shame? Or to shame me?”

Ruth realizes that Debbie hadn’t told Mark that she was going to fight. That’s the only possible reason for his towering rage; he was surprised, and felt humiliated. Debbie meant for him to feel like that, Ruth decides.

Someone appears next to her elbow. Ruth spares a half glance, and it’s Sheila, looking alarmed. She murmurs “Oooh, not good, body language not good.” Ruth nearly swears at her for stating the obvious, but then Sheila is gone again.

Debbie is snarling at him now, and this isn’t the Debbie that Ruth fought in the ring, all those weeks ago. That Debbie was half rage, half devastation. This Debbie is pure fire, fire and vitriol. 

“Because fuck you Mark” she snaps, prodding her finger at his chest. “That’s why. Fuck you. Try to imagine a world in which not everything that I do is designed to effect you.”

Someone in the gathering crowd half calls out “yeah!”, and there’s a murmur, some stifled snorts. There’s an edge to this crowd, who seem to be hoping that the finale of the wrestling show might happen out here in the parking lot.

Mark and Debbie don’t seems to notice their audience. In fact, Mark replies so quickly that he can’t really have heard what Debbie said. He fires off the words like missiles, his voice back under control, though still loud, and vicious.

“You couldn’t even give me a warning? You just made me sit there like a shmuck while you rip your clothes off next to me?”

So Debbie hadn’t told him. Ruth does’t really know what levels of denseness you’d have to achieve to not spot that your wife is wearing wrestling boots, but it would seem that Mark has passed with flying colors. Debbie is still yelling back at him, hands on hips as though she could face down a charging bull. Her voice is heavy with sarcasm, and Ruth knows what’s coming, can hear Debbie’s next line of attack even before she’s said it.

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry, was that tough for you? Fucking, wow, what if I’d slept with your best friend? Try that for feeling like a _fucking shmuck._ ”

The crowd gasp unashamedly now. A couple of them boo. One of them cries out “USA!” Debbie looks around, startled, but she can’t help but be recognizable, she’s wearing the dress that she challenged Ruth in.

Ruth can see Debbie try to weigh it up. Should she just accept getting in the car with Mark, simply to get away from the audience? Or walk away, even with the strong likelihood that Mark and probably half the crowd would follow?

As Debbie seems to search for an exit, her eyes meet Ruth’s. Debbie face changes, the anger drains, replaced by something more vulnerable. Ruth looks down, hot faced at being caught gawking at something way too personal.

Mark, after his own moment of observing the crowd, looks around, trying to track what caused the change in his wife. And obviously, inevitably, he also spots Ruth. He laughs, one note away from hysteria.

And then he points at Ruth, and the crowd’s eyes follow.

“And oh yes, of course she is here! It’s fucking Ruth, all the damn time. Are you insane? Are you actually both insane? You do all of this with her?”

Ruth knows that she is less recognisable as Zoya right now, but it won’t be long before the crowd start booing her too, all part of the show folks. 

The girls arrive at this moment, half jogging in a straggling line. Cherry’s at the front, unofficial leader again.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asks, but Ruth hasn’t got the time to answer. Mark is still waving his arm at her, pacing back and forth like every bad Shakespearean actor. Debbie has reduced into herself now, less confident now she’s seen Ruth. 

“I am paying _through the nose_ for therapy, whilst you- Are you even trying to move on? Or do you want to keep punishing me forever, is that it? Because there is no other sane reason to be writhing around with her like a couple of fucking grass snakes.”

Debbie shrugs, bordering on blasé now. She nods at him, even as she glares. “Yes Mark” she snaps out, bitter, biting, “I want to punish you forever. Because that’s how this goes, okay? So please, go fuck your therapist instead.” Debbie laughs, and its a mocking laugh, half to herself. “She might give you a discount.”

The crowd give an appreciative “oooh” at that, and Ruth can hear half stifled laughs. Behind her Ruth can hear Jenny murmur “you tell him Debbie.”

Mark seems to become suddenly aware of his lack of support, and draws himself up. Ruth panics that for one moment he’s going to hit Debbie, and she starts moving forward without thinking.

But then suddenly he’s turned, and is advancing on Ruth. He has his arm stretched out towards her, as if directing the crowd’s attention.

“So you choose her?” he bellows. “Jesus Christ, the _years_ I’ve spent carefully ignoring how fucking weird you are about her. But you choose her? She fucked me, Debbie.” He laughs, incredulous. “She fucked me twice! _That’s_ how little she cares about you.”

The crowd can’t help but notice Ruth now, recognise her properly, surrounded as she is by the other wrestlers. Someone calls out “you dirty Russian”, and there are muffled laughs that follow.

Ruth stands still, frozen. Debbie is looking horrified at the direction the argument is taking. Only Mark seems to have regained any kind of control, he’s grinning at Debbie, having finally found some power. 

Ruth feels like she’s choking, but manages to whisper out “Mark; please don’t-”

Mark looks at her without seeing her. He’s only a couple of feet away from her now. It’s a mad, unhinged sort of look, as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Ruth would speak. Ruth can feel the restless way the girls behind her move, and then she seems to be surrounded by them. Carmen stands just in front of her, resolute. Ruth remembers this afterward, remembers their solidarity with gratitude. But at this moment, her attention is elsewhere. Not on Mark, although goodness knows he looms large. But on Debbie, standing ten metres away, looking as though her world is collapsing.

Mark stares at her for a moment that seems eternal, and then turns back to Debbie, fresh inspiration dancing in his eyes.

“You know how little you matter, Debbie? Ruth didn’t even say your name _once_ , you know that? As she climbed upon my dick, Ruth didn’t even say your name. She called you “my wife”. That’s what you are to her. _My_ wife. My _wife_. So get the fuck in the car Debbie. We’re going home.”

The crowd don’t like this, and hiss at Mark as if this is some kind of kids show. Ruth opens her mouth automatically for a defence, but nothing comes. There is nothing that she can add which will make this situation better. Besides, it’s true. Ruth had been flinching away from Debbie’s name like a hot iron.

When Ruth manages to look at Debbie again, and god knows it hurts to do so, Debbie appears to have been waiting for her. The instant Ruth meets Debbie’s eyes, all her bluster is gone, and her face crumples. Debbie puts a hand over her face, and turns away. Ruth’s heart breaks all over again. 

Mark clearly senses victory, however ill gotten, and strides over to Debbie, opening the car door that she is standing next to. When she doesn’t move, he says again “Get in the fucking car Debbie.”

Suddenly Sam is there, and has placed himself in front of Mark. He holds up his hands, the world’s shabbiest diplomat. He grins. “Whoa buddy, okay, I don’t think she’s going home with you tonight. Why don’t you go, have a drink, you know, cool down, and then maybe-”

Mark hits him. Punches him in the face. The crowd gasps, delighted with the extra entertainment. Sam falls to the floor with a thud. Mark stands over him, fists still balled. He looks around at the crowd, and then back down at Sam, who is swearing and groaning. And then he yells “And who the fuck are you?”

Sam ignores him. “Jesus Christ” he grumbles, hand to his mouth “this fucking show.”

Cherry, Carmen and Tammé have taken advantage of the distraction, and have run over to Debbie, and are ushering her away. Ruth can see from her that Debbie shoulders are shaking with silent sobs, and she wants to go and comfort her, but for some reason Ruth can’t move. Melrose unlocks the limo, and they all pile in, throwing dirty looks at Mark as they go. 

Mark looks up from Sam, who is now struggling to his feet. He scans the crowd, who all individually try to pretend that they aren’t watching the drama unfold. He looks dazed, somehow, unsure where his wife went. 

And then he rounds on Ruth. He takes an unsteady step forward, and points at her.

“Why the hell are you here?” It sounds a genuine question, somehow. As though Mark has wanted to ask some version of this for a long time. There’s hurt in his voice.

Ruth is rooted, unable to offer any version of an answer. And this time the girls aren’t in front of her. 

Sam is still here though, and he’s staggering over to her. And then Bash appears next to him, still in his tux. And then there’s Keith. And finally, pushing through from the crowd, the huge form of Carmen’s dad. 

Mark stops, and blinks.

Sam looks behind him, and then says “Well fuck me if it isn’t the Avengers. Look, just, fuck off home, will you? The longer you stay the worse it gets, trust me. I had this ex-girlfriend, and there was this time when, well I’ll spare you the details, but just know that it’s better to go home now.”

Mark doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then abruptly turns away. There are some ironic cheers as he gets in the car, and his tires squeal as he drives away. 

The crowd turn to look at them, the final players in the show. Ruth has nothing for them. Sam spits some blood on the floor. 

Bash steps forwards, clapping his hands loudly together once.

“Well folks, that’s all we’ve got! Just whetting your appetites for the next show, and _wow_ , what a show! Such drama, ahaha, keep an eye out for the flyers, and tell your friends…”

The crowd start to drift away after a moment, reluctantly accepting that they’ll now have to find their entertainment elsewhere. They stare at Ruth unashamed, as they walk past. Keith nods at her, and heads for the limo. Carmen’s dad walks away without a word. 

Sam stands next to her, gingerly feeling his jaw. “Jesus Christ I hadn’t anticipated being punched so much in this job…”

Debbie. Ruth remembers Debbie. She takes a hesitating step towards the limo, but as if on cue, Rhonda steps out. Melrose winds down her window in tandem. Rhonda says “Oh, no, I don’t think trying to have a chat is good plan right now. Maybe later? But um, now isn’t a good time.”

Melrose leans out of her window, and says “We’ll take care of her, okay? Think we have enough ovaries between us to be able to manage. Are you getting back in Brit Brit?” 

When Rhonda opens the door again, Ruth can hear Debbie’s sobs. They’re broken, as though Debbie’s last reserve of strength has broken down. Each one rips at Ruth’s heart.

Melrose starts the engine, and the limo swings away, honking in discriminately at any straggler still walking in the road. 

Ruth’s alone. Sam is here, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Sam’s face looks sore in the half light; it'll bruise by morning she thinks.

"You should put some ice on that."

"Yeah? You got any?" Sam pats down his pockets, and then retrieves a pack of Marlboro. "Fucking handsy for of a guy who looks like a sucked jelly baby"

Ruth is shaking uncontrollably. She considers her body’s response in a calm, detached manner. Sam fumbles with his lighter, and then takes a drag. He nods at one last curious stranger, who is staring at them unashamed as he walks past. Sam blows smoke up to the sky, and clears his throat.

"So, you know, we could write it into the show. The skit. Zoya the Russian temptress seduces Liberty Belle's husband. We could - hah- we could call him Uncle Sam."

"That's a fucking stupid idea."

Ruth says it bitterly, her voice quavering. Sam squints at her, and then hands Ruth the cigarette.

"Yeah. It is. I was just riffing. Shock, I guess. Come on, I'll drive you back to the motel.”

…….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN.
> 
> COME VISIT ME AT YOTOOB.TUMBLR.COM. OR DON'T. IT'S FINE EITHER WAY.


	12. Crashing Through the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy.

Debbie can’t breathe.

It’s like both her lungs have left her, just given up on a bad job. She’s got her face in her hands, covering her shame as best she can. She tries to breath deeply, but even though she’s sure she’s doing it, even though her chest is expanding, the oxygen isn’t coming.

Debbie’s surrounded. Someone is rubbing her back. Someone else seems to be tying her hair back. The limo lurches to one side, and Debbie’s ware of the press of bodies. They’re talking, they’re all talking. At least three people seem to be having one sided conversations with Debbie, whilst there’s a background chatter of everyone else talking amongst themselves.

“You’re fine, he’s gone, you were so brave…”

“What a fucking dickhead, I mean really, that was like peak dickhead, you were so collected and he was just a mess…”

“You can stay in the motel until we can figure something out, I’ll go to the house for you to get your clothes if you want, or I don’t know, you might want to work things out, you don’t have to make any decisions now…”

“I was so scared he was going to hit one of them, and then when he hit Sam I was like ‘phew’, I mean, I know that is awful, but-”

“Do you think Ruth being there made it worse? I don’t know, I don’t think she should have stayed-”

“I thought he was meant to be a nice guy-”

“Is Ruth still there with him? Rhonda, did you see-”

Debbie abruptly realizes that she’s going to be sick. She starts grabbing at the person next to her, who turns out to be Tammé.

“I need to- I’m going to- stop the car-”

Tammé grasps her meaning after a moment, and gestures forward at someone.

“Get Melrose to pull over will you? My girl’s gonna puke.”

Debbie stumbles out, and lets it happen.

She doesn’t remember what she’s eaten today. Anything? The tequila burns her, and the rest might just be despair.

Debbie straightens up after a moment, and blearily looks around, but _nope_ , her body’s not done yet. She hears Melrose saying “Better out than in, Debbie. Both you and my car.” She sounds gleeful. Debbie musters the coordination to flip her off without looking at her. 

The girls cheer her, and this, this is surely rock bottom. Being cheered as she pukes her guts out next to a Seven Eleven. The store owner comes out to say something to her, but Debbie’s not got time for that.

Debbie’s not sure how she keeps managing to find rock bottoms. Just when things can’t get any more humiliating, she somehow crashes through the floor again.

 _TV’s Debbie Eagan_ she thinks, bitterly. What a fucking sham.

……

For the rest of the ride back, Debbie manages to breathe.

The girls are sympathy personified, but it is difficult for them to emphasise. None of them have had their world ripped to shreds in such a comprehensive manner. None of them have faced humiliation like that with a full capacity audience.

Debbie sucks in the air, and tries to pull herself together. She still has dignity. She can't just let it all fall to pieces.

She realizes that she likes these girls, who are all so anxious to make her feel better again. Debbie knows she has been a bitch to them on a number of occasions, unnecessarily lofty and aloof, and yet they are still trying to sooth her.

 _Act_ she thinks to herself, fucking _act_.

When the limo pulls up, she declines her need for ten plus people to help her get ready for bed. 

“I’m just going to turn in guys, honestly, my brain can’t even process… I’m _fine_ , seriously, well no, not fine fine, but, you know. I need sleep the most.”

They drift away eventually, although some give her hugs and kisses and little reassuring squeezes on the arm. Melrose points at her instead.

“Honestly, you devastated him. Like you were a towering queen of rage and he was a petulant little pissbaby. So like, don’t sweat it.”

Debbie smiles her thanks, and oddly, it is close to what she needs.

And then there is only Cherry left.

Debbie looks away. “Okay, please don’t like, Yoda me, or whatever. I haven’t even figured out what I’m thinking yet so my ability to discuss things with you is completely fucked.”

Cherry offers her a cigarette instead. Debbie rolls her eyes, but takes it. “These are…bad for you” she says, pointlessly. 

“Oh, because you only do things that are good for you?”

Debbie glares, and then snatches the lighter out of Cherry’s hand. “I said don’t fucking Yoda me.”

Cherry snorts, and then they both just smoke in the still night’s air. Debbie leans her head back on the door post, trying to sooth her heart.

After around five minutes, a car appears. Debbie recognizes it as Sam’s. It pulls up in the parking lot, and out gets Ruth.

It’s a relief, to know that she’s here. Debbie hadn’t been actively worrying about Ruth, but some small part of her brain seems to stand down, anyway.

She hadn’t even said Debbie’s name. Debbie feels a twist of rage, jealously, and unbearable disappointment. 

_“Climbed on top of my dick”_. That’s a visual that Debbie hadn’t needed.

Ruth sees them, on the way to her room. She freezes. Debbie considers how vulnerable she looks. How is it possible for Ruth and Zoya to be the same person?

Cherry half lifts her cigarette to her in greeting. Debbie does nothing, but she finds that she is _willing_ Ruth to come over. Just, come here. Show that I matter for once. 

But Debbie knows that she looks cold, and unforgiving, without a hint of welcome. After a moment Ruth trudges off, head down.

Cherry is looking at Debbie. And then she says “Girl.”

Debbie frowns at her, and then looks at her cigarette, inspecting the tip. “What?”

Cherry sighs at her. “Look, she just keeps waiting for you. You are the one that’s got to change, cause you’ve shut her down so many times now that she isn’t going to try again unless you give her a sign.”

Debbie runs this sentence past her mind a couple of times, and then takes a drag. She exhales heavily.

“She didn’t even say my name.” Debbie doesn’t know why she lets that thought escape, but then she seems to always say too much to Cherry. Cherry tuts at her.

“Oh, and that’s the crucial thing now? Do something good for yourself, for once. You gotta change the record if you don’t like the music.” 

Debbie half laughs at that, a sad, wobbly sounding sort of laugh.

“Shut the fuck up do you get these out of fortune cookies?”

Cherry doesn’t respond, doesn’t let her off the hook at all. And then she says “Whatever. You know I’m right. You need to let her apologize if either of you are going to get any peace.”

Debbie saying nothing. Peace sounds like a hopeless dream. Cherry stubs out her cigarette.

“I’m done. Yoda out.”

Debbie waves her away, taking another drag herself and then tossing it to the floor, grinding it under her heel.

She straightens up, and stares in the direction that Ruth went.

…….

This is a terrible idea, Debbie decides. She decides this, and still knocks on the door.

Sheila opens it, and Debbie stares at her. She’d managed to forget about Sheila.

“Can you just… can you just go?”

Sheila nods after a moment, and disappears past her. Debbie wonders where she’ll go. Maybe to one of those damn pool loungers. 

She steps inside, and Ruth is sitting on her bed. She and Sheila have been watching telly, some shopping channel is trying to sell a lawn mower.

Ruth had been sitting on her bed, but now she’s standing up, looking, Debbie doesn’t know. Looking like she is experiencing every emotion at once.

Debbie can feel the ominous way her heart thuds, and she closes the door behind her. And then she leans on it, as though coming any closer is just a terrible idea. 

Restlessly, Debbie sighs.

“Look, I don’t know why I’m here.”

She looks at Ruth, to see if there is any help coming from there. After a moment Ruth looks down.

“I’m sorry, I know. It was a stupid, fucked up thing to do-”

Debbie holds up a hand, frowning. “No, I’m not here for that. I don’t know, I haven’t got the emotional energy for that.”

Ruth looks at her, and then says, “Okay. Um. Am I supposed to guess why you are here?”

Debbie looks at her, incredulous.

“No, what the fuck, just, don't talk, for a moment.”

Ruth does so, crossing her arms and shifting uncomfortably. Debbie remembers what Cherry had said, about Debbie shutting Ruth down so many times that she cannot now expect Ruth to get things started herself.

Eventually Debbie sighs heavily.

“I meant to say ‘yet’, okay? Well, I didn’t mean to, because I didn’t. But. Yet. That’s the end of the sentence.”

Ruth looks at her for a long moment, and then says cautiously “Is this a riddle?”

Jesus Christ. Debbie thinks she might have aged a thousand years since the start of this conversation. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you always like this?”

Ruth looks baffled. Debbie nearly walks out of the door again, because how much more will she be expected to give? But then she takes a deep breath, tries to relax, and leans back again on the door. Ruth takes a couple of steps closer, and personal space be damned.

Debbie wants her close.

She takes a deep breath. “We’re not there, _yet_. Going for a drink, whatever you suggested after the fight. We’re not there _yet._

The light is dawning in Ruth’s eyes. Hope rises like the sun. “Ohhh” she says. “But we will be, in the future, you mean?” 

“We might be.” Debbie crosses her arms, keen to defend herself against insightful reasoning. “If you don’t somehow massively betray me again.”

Ruth nods a few times, looking anxious. And then she says “and where is ‘there’, exactly?”

This is too much, and Debbie snaps at her, feeling as angry as ever. “I don’t know, fucking, _there._ Back in a friendship, although how that works I don’t know as I don’t seem to be able to go twenty minutes without being angry with you so-”

Ruth flinches, but still takes a step forward. “Why are you so angry?”

Debbie spreads her arms wide. “You know why, fuck’s sake Ruth.”

“Do I?” Ruth’s voice is trembling now, and her eyes have filled with tears. “Do I? Because it is not Mark, you never cared this much for Mark. Not enough to burn me up like this.”

Debbie looks away, which is the coward’s route but she can’t manage anything else. She forces the words out. “You humiliated me. You, you’ve taken all the power, and I’m just this sad wreck who cares too much-” and this is worse than the parking lot, and her voice has broken now, “and fuck, Liberty Belle is a _relief_ , anything to not be me, looking at you, for once, god.”

Ruth is crying now. The tears are rolling down her face. Debbie grips onto the door handle, ready to fly. Ruth sees her intention, and sobs. “Why can’t you forgive me?”

“Because of the shame” Debbie says flatly, and this much is true. That’s a bare truth. “I can’t get past it, okay? I’ve been trying and- I just can’t.”

Ruth gulps a little, and then gasps, wiping underneath her eyes furiously. But she still takes a step forward, and why is she still coming forward, when Debbie is doing everything she can to throw her backwards?”

Ruth laughs a little before she speaks, a desperate sounding laugh. “Well, wherever ‘there’ is, I can’t wait to be there. Fuck, and if you are struggling with the power balance think about me, desperately wanting to be close to you when all the time you are just snarling at me.” Ruth looks up at her, and she’s too close now. 

“I just want, just want another moment to, I just want…”

Ruth has stumbled forward again, and they collide, and Ruth has kissed her. She’s pressed her mouth to Debbie in a kind of silent supplication. 

Debbie doesn’t move, and after a moment Ruth takes her lips away, starts mumbling helplessly again.

“You’ve got all the power, you always had, it’s me whose-”

Debbie’s too angry again, because once more Ruth is saying things are easier for Debbie. Once more, it is Debbie who is somehow out of line. And she didn’t even say Debbie’s name, as she climbed upon Mark’s dick.

Debbie pulls Ruth towards her, and kissing her back, snatching the words of Ruth’s tongue. _You think you are the only one with complicated emotions?_ , she screams, internally. It’s a furious, biting kiss, but Ruth leans into it, holding her hand to the flame. 

Debbie’s hands are at Ruth’s sides, and then she’s pulled Ruth into her, hitting the door with a thud, and it isn’t close enough, it isn’t close enough. 

It isn’t going to be enough.

……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - come tell me that I am magnificent (I've eased you all in now. SURPRISE! I'm a narcissist)


	13. Return the Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good luck everybody.

Ruth walks away from Cherry and Debbie with a feeling of desperation. They’d been there, two statues of rage, smoking outside Debbie’s door. 

This was all Ruth’s fault, she knew. Debbie had cried those horrible, heart wrenching sobs because of Ruth, of her fucked up behaviors. Debbie, who enjoys public vulnerability as much as root canal.

Ruth had nearly gone over, nearly just self immolated herself on Debbie’s rage. But with Cherry standing there it had been a stretch too far. Besides, Debbie wouldn’t want another witness, even though it is Cherry and she _seems_ to be Debbie’s friend.

So she’d just trudged back to her door. The handle is bare, and that’s as close as a resounding welcome she can expect. Ruth remembers the time Debbie had shoulder barged the door open, for her. It feels like ten years ago.

Sheila just nods at Ruth, when she opens the door. She’s lying on her bed, eating potato chips. After a moment, she offers the bag to Ruth. It’s all the comfort that Ruth seems to merit.

Ruth goes to the bathroom, and washes her face until every hint of Zoya is gone. Then she changes, pulling on her sleep clothes and sniffing her old ones, trying to determine whether they have one more wear in them.

Ruth’s half hopeful that Sheila has gone to bed by the time she emerges, but no, she’s in exactly the same position. She glances at Ruth once.

“You alright?”

Ruth shrugs. 

“Not dead.”

Sheila nods, as though this is a sign of a successful day. Ruth sighs, and settles herself on her bed, though deliberately choosing an uncomfortable position. She doesn’t want to sleep. It feels too much of a cop out.

The tv burbles on, something about a lawn mower. Sheila eats chips, popping them in her mouth like a metronome. Ruth cannot imagine ever owning a lawn.

She could sleep, maybe. Just, check out of all _this_ for a few hours. Wake up to see whether it is all a nightmare. Ruth remembers thinking, earlier today, that the absolute worst thing that could happen was that the audience wouldn’t like the show. She bites her lip, anxious to not let it wobble.

There’s a knock at the door.

Ruth doesn’t move, because she’s safe in here. The only thing that can come in from outside is more bad news.

After a moment, Sheila groans, and then lifts herself off the bed. “Your bed is closer” she mumbles, but opens the door anyway.

It’s Debbie’s voice that says “Can you just go?” Ruth sits bolt up right, every sense suddenly screaming. Sheila, in a rare moment of humanity, doesn’t protest, just ups and leaves. 

When Debbie comes in, Ruth gets to her feet. She can’t sit still, she has to stand or she’ll somehow flip herself through a wall. Debbie looks at her as though Ruth is a bad idea, and then leans on the door. She seems listless, all the fight taken from her.

“I don’t know why I’m here?”

Ruth starts to apologize, because that’s what they do now. Debbie shows up and Ruth starts to apologize. But Debbie waves a hand at her, waving away Ruth’s tsunami of regret, swearing as she does so. Ruth tries to settle herself, but it’s difficult. She has all these words that she wants to give to Debbie, for all the good they’ll do, but Debbie never wants to listen. 

Debbie stumbles out a half sentence that Ruth can’t translate, and then clarifies for her (after swearing at her again) once Ruth has made a lame joke about a riddle.

““We’re not there, _yet_. Going for a drink, whatever you suggested after the fight. We’re not there _yet._ ”

Debbie looks up at Ruth as she says this, defiant somehow. As though Ruth is not allowed to take any of this the wrong way. But Ruth can’t help it, this is as close as Debbie has ever come to suggesting that she’ll ever be able to move on.

Because here it is, the promise of reaching “there”, however couched it is in Debbie’s ifs and maybes. Ruth realizes that she’s been getting closer to Debbie, somehow, as though gravity works differently now.

But then- Ruth remembers what their last five years of friendship have been like. How Ruth constantly felt unable to relax, snatching the joyful glimpses of normality like precious stones in the mud of confusion, anxiety.

The last time Ruth felt like Debbie’s real friend, was on a couch, watching Paradise Cove, just before Debbie kissed her.

And that was Debbie’s fault. That one can’t be blamed on her.

It gives her a false sense of confidence, to remember that she’s not the only fuck up in this relationship. Debbie is watching her, cautiously, waiting Ruth’s next move.

“And where is ‘there’, exactly?”

Debbie is all anger, instantly, snapping lots of words at Ruth but none of them, none, closer to an answer that feels real. But Debbie’s so furious, that Ruth can feel that she’s about thirty seconds from starting to cry, because nothing she has done justifies this. Not really.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

Debbie scoffs at her, saying something it being obvious, but it isn’t true, it just isn’t _true_. Ruth says that it isn’t Mark, because she knows it isn’t. Debbie never cared about Mark.

Ruth wants Debbie to shout, wants her to admit something for once. But instead Debbie just looks away, and says something about humiliation, something about power, about Ruth having all the power. Ruth half wants to laugh, through all her tears, because the idea of her having power in this situation is just ridiculous. Debbie reaches for the door handle, and Ruth nearly grabs her hand to wrench it away, because Debbie can’t leave now, she just can’t.

“Why can’t you forgive me?”

For one horrible moment, Debbie looks like she is actually going to leave. But then she takes a deep breath, and Ruth realizes how close Debbie is to crying as well.

“Because of the shame” Debbie says, in a matter of fact way, even as her eyes betray her. “I can’t get past it, okay? I’ve been trying, and - I just can’t.”

Ruth stifles a little sob at this, at just Debbie admitting that she has even been _trying_ to forgive Ruth. That she does want Ruth back in her life.

It’s enough of a sign, and Ruth’s mouth runs on autopilot, trying to explain where the power lies. Trying to explain how helpless Ruth feels. But she knows that, before she gets to the end of the sentence, she’s going to kiss Debbie.

She can’t help it. It’s like watching herself from afar. She’s going to kiss Debbie. And to hell with it, to hell with it.

She wants her. Anything, any version of anything. Ruth just wants Debbie to stay honest, for just a minute more, before they both retreat back into their realities.

Ruth almost doesn’t feel the kiss, so keyed up is she for the rejection. But it doesn’t come. Debbie lets Ruth kiss her, doesn’t push her away. Lets Ruth relax into her warmth, just for a second. It’s enough of a welcome for Ruth to not fling herself backwards when their lips part, and she stays, a fraction of a space between them. 

She feels relieved. _There_ , she thinks. _There’s my truth._

“You’ve got all the power, you always had, it’s me whose-”

When she glances once into Debbie’s eyes, she can see the anger again, but there’s something else there as well, something-

And then Debbie’s hands are on her, and Ruth is pulled forward again. Debbie kisses her, but this isn’t the hesitant kiss that Ruth just gave. This is a whirlwind, a storm.

Ruth presses herself forward, and Debbie’s against the door again. Her hands are already under Ruth’s top, gripping hard at the bare skin of Ruth’s sides.

Ruth groans, and tries to get even closer, wrapping her arms around Debbie’s neck. Debbie bites at her lower lip until Ruth opens her mouth, and Debbie’s hot breath is against her skin, insistent and demanding. Debbie moves downwards, half kissing half biting at her neck, before soothing the pain slightly with her tongue. Ruth is looking at the ceiling, trying not to fall over, trying to let Debbie have whatever she needs.

Debbie looks at her again, searching in Ruth’s eyes for god knows what. Ruth has no idea whether she finds what she wants, but Debbie’s kissing her again, bringing one hand up to cup her neck and jawline. Stay here, the touch seems to say. Don’t ask me to stop.

Ruth can feel her body’s response already, and she knows her tits are hard, knows that there’ll be wetness between her legs. She moans, and Debbie matches her after a moment, and jerks her hips forward in a movement that feels involuntary.

“Debbie” she gasps, and it’s mumbled into Debbie’s mouth. Debbie wraps one arm around the back of Ruth’s neck, and her other hand is caressing Ruth’s face, her fingers just shy of rough. 

It’s heaven. Ruth can hardly believe it. Debbie is in her arms, pulling Ruth towards her, as demanding as she is angry. 

Angry. Ruth half notices that thought, through the haze of arousal, and then struggles for her senses.

“This won’t fix things.”

Debbie stops for only half a second, and Ruth can feel Debbie’s fingertips tremble on her skin as she tries to deal with whatever emotion is coursing through her. “Christ” she mumbles, sounding almost intoxicated “Who said this was therapy?- I’m still so angry with you- ” 

Debbie abandons the sentence, seeking out Ruth’s mouth again. And the kisses back her anger up, because when Debbie moves to her neck again the touch actually does hurt this time, and Ruth gasps. It’ll leave a mark. Debbie sucks, and then runs her tongue over the spot, and Ruth is moaning again, loudly. And what’s a bit of pain? She wouldn’t stop for the world.

Abruptly, Debbie’s hands change their position, and then Ruth is being lifted up, easily. Debbie drops her on the bed, and it isn’t with quite the same force as in the wrestling ring, but it isn’t far off. Ruth doesn’t have time for analysis, because Debbie’s pushing her back, and climbing on top of her. 

God. _God_. It’s too good, even as her mind screams at her that this isn’t okay, this isn’t an act of salvation. But Debbie’s mouth is on her tits, through the thin material, and Ruth is arching up into her, just reacting, reacting.

Debbie grunts in something like approval, and kisses Ruth again. And Ruth is desperate for skin, reaches for Debbie’s jacket. Debbie allows herself to be pulled out of it, and then allows Ruth to lift her top up. Debbie straightens up for a moment, and yanks the top off herself. Her hair flies around her, and Debbie mumbles “shit”, before grabbing a hair tie from Ruth’s side table and gathering her hair up into a hasty, jerky pony.

Ruth gazes at her. Debbie frowns, and then says “Don’t fucking look at me like that.”

Ruth can feel her heart crack, even as she laughs a little helplessly. “Why,” she says “too intimate?”

Debbie still manages to look furious. Ruth’s heart is breaking, suddenly. She’ll be left with fragments later, she knows. Ruth is desperate, all her fears coming back at once.

“Don’t leave me again. Afterwards, please don’t leave me. God Debbie, I don’t know how to-”

Debbie cuts her off. There’s a set to her jaw that tells Ruth she’s still holding back, Debbie is nowhere close to giving her the emotional connection that she craves.

“I will. I can’t- this isn’t- I will leave. So. You still want this?”

Ruth nods, helpless to her own heart. Debbie stares down at her for one inscrutable second, as though Ruth has let her down again, somehow. 

And then Debbie’s on her again, kissing her again, leaving a trail down to her collar bone. She pulls Ruth out of her top, and Ruth reaches around behind Debbie, cautious fingers fumbling at her bra strap. She expects the refusal, but it never comes, and Debbie is compliant, tugging her bra out of the way and pressing down into Ruth. Ruth can hear the hitch in Debbie’s breathing when they’re skin to skin, and chases the sound to her lips. Maybe she can just ignore Debbie’s words, and concentrate on her sounds. 

Debbie groans loudly when Ruth spreads her legs, and rubs herself against Debbie’s thigh, desperate for anything. It’s nothing like the last time, Ruth realizes. That was all giddy excitement. This is a lull, a change of tempo between fights. This is more than sex.

“Are you wet?” and it’s an odd question from Debbie’s lips, incongruous compared to everything else she’s said. It’s like she needs to know for her own satisfaction, and Ruth moans at the thought of Debbie actually wanting her. Debbie hisses in approval and whispers to herself “Oh jesus”. It actually sounds like a prayer, but then when she puts her mouth on Ruth’s breasts it feels like anything but. Ruth has one hand at the back of Debbie’s head, and the other is clinging to the sheets beneath her, as if she has to touch at least one thing that isn’t Debbie to avoid losing her mind completely.

Then Debbie’s gone. Ruth half sits up, but Debbie just standing next to the bed. She pulls her jeans off like they’re in the changing room, like this is all just another day. Then Debbie looks at Ruth for a half moment, checking. And then she reaches for the hem of Ruth’s sleep shorts, and pulls them off her. Finally, Ruth manages to think. Finally.

But then Debbie doesn’t do anything, just stands, looking at her. Ruth can feel her heart hammering in her mouth.

“Did you- I mean, when you were with- with _him_ , how did you…”

Ruth has a terrible flash of what Debbie is asking. Climbed upon his dick, is what Mark had said. That bastard. That bastard. She opens her mouth, but she doesn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, Debbie doesn’t seem to want the answer either. She’s back on top of Ruth, kissing Ruth as though anything else is too difficult. She kisses and kisses, while her hands grab, pulling Ruth closer, closer, into the space that doesn’t exist. 

Ruth is above thoughts now, just feels, everything, every fingertip. All of Debbie’s pent up anger, and then the tears from Debbie’s eyes, falling onto her face.

“Hey” Ruth manages, “hey, Debbie, don’t, it’s okay.”

She reaches up, cups Debbie’s face, and Debbie stops kissing her, just looks at her. The pain is painted large on her face.

“It’s okay” Ruth says again, helplessly, because it isn’t, it really isn’t. Debbie buries her face in the space between Ruth’s shoulder and neck, running from her.

“Will you _stop_ ” and Debbie sounds choked, broken “just stop looking at me. I can’t, do this if you keep on…”

Ruth nods, nods, closing her eyes tight because maybe that’ll solve Debbie’s problem. Debbie bites once, hard at her neck, before coming to her own solution. And then there are strong hands at her sides, and Ruth is being encouraged to turn over. She does so, compliant.

“Is this okay?” Debbie asks roughly.

“God, yes” is what Ruth manages. And then she says again “Oh God, _Debbie_ ", when Debbie straddles the back of one of her thighs, and Ruth can feel the wetness of Debbie’s panties when she rocks down onto her skin, once, twice. 

Debbie says “You’re so fucking hot, Ruth, fuck, fuck” and that’s when Ruth knows that Debbie is completely gone, is utterly detached from her brain, because she’d never say anything like that in real life. She can’t help but feel a small victory, but then Debbie leaning over her, and one hand is sneaking around into Ruth’s panties. 

And then it is Ruth’s turn to swear, when Debbie’s fingers slide over her clit haphazardly. She drops her head down into the mattress, and says “Oh god Debbie, fuck me, just fuck me, please.” And she’s swearing incoherently, and she’s bucking down into Debbie’s hand, trying to find some way of satisfaction. Debbie is kissing her back near her shoulder blades, in fact just seems to be kissing which ever part of Ruth she can reach, and it’s almost a comfort. Like Debbie actually wants Ruth to feel good, wants this to be something other than another argument.

Debbie dips her fingers inside Ruth, and Ruth feels everything, her whole universe becomes the texture and shape of Debbie’s palm. Debbie swears to herself, and changes tempo, rides into the back of Ruth’s leg like she’s searching for her own pleasure with half stifled moans. Ruth moans too, almost delirious from the sheer everything of it all. She reaches for Debbie’s free hand, trying to find her, but Debbie’s not allowing it, she’s not allowing it.

“I’m still so angry with you” she whispers, just before Ruth comes. It’s the worst thing in the world to hear now, but Ruth can’t stop her own orgasm, and moans long and loud. She’s writhing down onto Debbie’s hand shamelessly, trembling as Debbie’s fingers still slip slide over her clit. Debbie grunts and hisses with something that sounds like satisfaction, before biting once more at her shoulder. 

Gradually Ruth goes still, completely spent. 

 

She could melt, she thinks, in a daze. 

Debbie moves sideways after a moment, and Ruth can watch her out of the corner of her eye. Debbie stares at the ceiling, inscrutable. Did she come as well? Ruth can’t tell.

“Please don’t leave”, Ruth murmurs, even though she knows it’s no use. “Don’t leave again.”

But Debbie has already stood up, and Ruth can tell by the flinching nature of her movements that Debbie didn’t come, not properly. She looks like it is hard to walk. And yet, she gathers up her clothes, tugging herself back into her jeans with a grunt and slipping on her top. She doesn’t even put on her bra, just crams it into her jacket pocket. And suddenly she’s full dressed again. Ruth tries to sit up, and half manages, even though wrestling is nothing compares to how she feels now.

She just wants the moment to last a little longer, even though she knows it is now over. But she’ll be damned if Debbie can accuse her of not saying anything this time.

“Please stay. At least let me return the favour.”

Debbie looks at her, and Ruth realises that she is completely broken. That Debbie is furious again, angry with herself and the world.

“That wasn’t a favor Ruth, _jesus_ …” and then she is gone, striding out the door with a slam.

……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN


	14. Comedy Hour

Debbie wakes up the next morning, feeling like she hasn’t slept at all. Her head aches. Her heart doesn’t seem to be doing much better.

She checks her watch, and realizes that she feels like she’s barely slept because she can only have had about an hour, maybe two at tops. The sky is still dark outside, when she cranes her head around to gaze blearily out of the window.

Well, there’s no fixing that now. Her brain presents the events of yesterday for review, and, nope. Debbie will not be going back to sleep. 

She presses a hand to her face with a groan. It seems impossible that Debbie had managed to fit all of that in one day. It was far less than twenty four hours since Cherry had turned up on her doorstep and talked some of the first sense that she’d heard in a while.

And then the fight; she had flew at Ruth. Ruth had caught her.

And then the fight in the parking lot, with Mark mutating into the sort of husband it would have been easy to leave several years ago. Jesus, where the fuck had all that anger and derision and biting bile been when Debbie actually needed a justifiable reason to file for divorce? Selfish of him, to otherwise be so consistently reasonable.

And then the weeping in the limo, in front of all the girls. Debbie was not comfortable crying in front of _anyone_. In fact, she’d only just got over the shame of that first encounter with Ruth in the ring, when Debbie had turned up screaming, then moved on to weeping, before a grand finale of scrabbling around with Ruth on the floor. Her broken heart had been that day’s entertainment. She’d resented all of them for witnessing it.

And then- 

Debbie nearly hadn’t knocked on Ruth’s door. She’d gone inside, and managed to get as far as changing her clothes, leaving her ridiculous leotard on the floor and dressing into something more normal. She’d half been toying with the idea of packing up, and just driving away. Not to Mark, obviously. Maybe to her parents? _Fuck_ , she needs to go and take Randy off them for a while otherwise he’s going to forget what his mom looks like.

This thought manages to get Debbie out of bed without dwelling on what happened after she’d knocked on Ruth’s door. In fact, she doesn’t dwell on Ruth at all. She calmly accepts that around fifty percent of her brain is dedicated to a catastrophic confusion of feelings, and just ignores it.

Debbie gets in the shower, washes yesterday off herself. The water is still hot, thank god. She towels herself dry, and puts on clothes that make her feel at her most normal, just normal Debbie Eagan, nothing to see here.

It turns out that doing her hair and make up is a bit more challenging, because looking at herself in the mirror proves a struggle. However, Debbie powers through, applying lipstick and resolutely not thinking about kissing Ruth with this same mouth, resolutely not thinking about the way Ruth’s tits had puckered underneath her tongue.

Fuck. 

_Anyway_ , she thinks. She’s not got time for this. Debbie has stuff to do. Randy to collect. And then, well, she needs to plan how to go and get some more of her clothes from the house. 

She finishes her make up, and frowns at herself critically. There. Completely respectable looking. 

Debbie checks her bag for her car keys, is even wondering where the nearest gas station would be, when she glances at the clock again.

And then she realizes that she can’t go and collect Randy at 5:30am in the morning. Nothing says crisis like arriving pre-dawn to wake up a baby and drive off.

Debbie sighs, drops her bag, and then sighs again. She puts her hands on her hips. She sits on the bed. She stands up again, and paces up and down a few times. She turns on the television, but none of the channels have started up yet, the screen holding card stares blankly back at her.

She sighs again. Has she got a book? Debbie’s up again, and checks her bag and then her case, even though she knows that she hasn’t got one. She looks at herself in the mirror. There’s a mark on her neck. Something from last night, though Debbie doesn’t recall the exact nature of how it got there. She doesn’t remember Ruth kissing her neck, although it might have happened. Everything is a bit of a blur. Debbie thinks she might have been experiencing everything _too hard_ to form coherent memories.

Debbie does remember kissing at Ruth’s neck. She’d been doing more than just kissing, determined to leave something real on Ruth the next day. Debbie remembers the way Ruth had moaned, right next to her ear. Debbie looks at herself in the mirror, and touches at the small mark gingerly.

Book. She needs a book. A magazine? Anything. Debbie returns to her hunt with fresh energy, opening drawers that she hasn’t even looked inside since she arrived at the motel. 

In the bedside drawer that she doesn’t sleep next to, Debbie finds a Gideon’s Bible. She rolls her eyes, and then glares at it, trying to weigh up whether she’s actually going to read scripture rather than do what she can tell her body now needs her to do.

Fuck it. It’s just processing, right? Ruth had come before Debbie could, and then obviously Debbie had had to leave, and then Debbie had been too angry to consider touching herself last night, and then…

It’ll draw a neat line under things, Debbie justifies to herself irritably. Done and dusted, and then Debbie can pack her bags, leave the show, leave Ruth, find that fucking circus, whatever.

She’s rolling her eyes at herself even as she pulls her jeans off. But then she finds wetness under her panties, and swears.

Well, no wonder she couldn’t think clearly if this was the situation, Debbie thinks, biting her lip. So she’ll just, you know, and then move the fuck on.

The image of Ruth face down on the mattress, encouraging Debbie to fuck her, begging Debbie to fuck her, rises unbidden to her mind. Debbie surprises herself by smiling, enjoying the thought.

Anyway, it’s just a thing. Whatever. Debbie bites her lip to avoid moaning, and thinks about Ruth, thinks about Ruth kissing her, Ruth undressing her, Ruth wanting her.

Whatever.

…….

At seven thirty, after Debbie’s second shower of the day, she steps out of the door, locking it behind her. She takes a deep breath, and concentrates on looking for her car. 

Oh _fuck!_ She actually swears out loud, frustration bubbling over, when she remembers. Fuck fuck fuck.

Her car is at home. At the house. At, fuck, at the house that she used to live in with Mark. Mark had driven her to the wrestling show, and then she’d been driven here in Melrose’s limo.

She can’t face going back to into her room. And do what? Just sit there? And she’s not going to training, that’s way too soon to risk running into anyone. And… and. She does actually need to go and get Randy. She’s not inventing a reason to get away. Randy does exist.

Debbie clears her throat, annoyed. She should call a cab. But she also wants to pass on some of her frustration to someone, just to spread it around a bit. And so what if it is all a bit unnecessary? He wanted a star, so he can damn well have one.

………

Sam throws his door open, and then sags onto the frame of it. He presses one hand to his eyes.

“Debbie, _christ_ not you as well, do you people not need sleep- can you just, come back later when I’ve managed to line up my arguments, because I am not at my most lucid and god knows pre-dawn is not like, fucking debate hour, so-”

Debbie smoothly rides over whatever sentence Sam was formulating, like the diva she knows he wants her to be.

“Good morning Sam, so I just need you to give me a ride to my mom’s house, and then my house. Are you sober?"

Sam grunts, and then stares blearily at Debbie. “Jesus, yes. As a fish. Why am I allowed no peace?”

Debbie sighs. She nearly laughs, because Sam thinks _he_ has no peace. “Well, you are running a female wrestling show, Sam. Fourteen women who are willing to wrestle? And you expected no drama? Go get your keys.”

Frustratingly, Sam still hesitates. He’s wearing, well, Debbie doubts he’s the sort of man who wears pyjamas, so the scruffs shorts and t-shirt must be daytime clothes. He doesn’t look like he’s showered, but then he never looks like he’s showered.

“Debbie” he says, with a groan. “I mean, I can call you a cab, I'll pay for it, it’s just I’ve had no sleep and-”

Drawing herself up to her full height, Debbie thinks about just walking away. But she plays her final card, even though she is loath to even refer to the fact that she knows the name. 

“Oh, so only Ruth gets you personally escorting her to mysterious places?”

Sam blinks at her, blinks at her several times, and then slumps his shoulders in defeat even before saying anything.

“What? Oh for fuck’s- okay, let me get my shoes, just stay there, will you? Try not to have an argument with someone while I’m gone…”

……..

Her mom is startled when Debbie turns up to collect Randy. And doubly startled when Sam appears behind her, looking like one of the men from a police line up. Debbie waves at him to stay in the car. He sees this, he _obviously_ sees this, Debbie thinks furiously, and then he comes sloping up the path anyway, and oh, what the fuck ever. 

“Mom, I’m here for Randy.”

Her mom smiles at her uncertainly, as Sam appears besides her. 

“Of course darling, but I thought it was Mark’s turn to have Randy today? I’m expecting him in half an hour.”

Debbie laughs shortly. “Yeah, well, Mark turns out to be a psychopath and so I’m not handing my baby over to him until he’s had more therapy and, I don’t know, can produce a certificate of his own sanity.”

Her mom takes all of this in her stride, as though this is just another swirl of drama in Debbie’s already chaotic life. 

“Well okay then dear - I’ve just changed him, so he’s good to go.” Her mom looks at Sam, her smile crystallising slightly. “And who is this?”

Sam looks at Debbie, who is feeling unwilling to explain anything.

“This is Sam - he’s the director of the show I’m doing.”

Sam clears his throat. “Mark punched me last night. Look, can you see where it is swelling?” Sam leans forward into her mom, who leans away automatically. Debbie laughs, feeling herself teeter on the edge of hysteria.

“Oh yeah, he did, didn’t he? God, how did I manage to forget that?”

Sam shrugs. “It was probably the stoic way I took the hit. Didn’t even register.”

Debbie snorts, and then covers her mouth, remembering the way Sam had folded like a deck chair. Her mom looks at both of them as if trying to figure out if they’re toying with her.

“Why did Mark hit… this man?”

Debbie says “because he’s an ass”, just as Sam says “because Debbie’s in love with me.” Debbie swings around, and hits him on the arm. “Will you just… I’m not mom, its a long story. Sam’s just giving me a ride because I left my car at home. I am not in love with him.”

Sam smiles, in a way that Debbie suspects is meant to be disarming.

“Just having a little fun, everyone knows that pre-nine am is comedy hour.” He takes a conspiratorial step forward, tilting his head in her mom’s direction. “I don’t suppose there happens to be any coffee in the house?”

“What, _no_ , we are not staying for coffee, Mom, do you mind if I just, can I just get Randy please?”

…….

It takes about half an hour, all told, because doing anything with a baby is complicated and time consuming, and then Debbie realizes that they have a further issue, because of course Sam’s car doesn’t have a child seat.

“What, you think I just carry one of those around with me? On the off chance?”

Ron remembers that he has a spare one in the garage, and then they need to root it out, because it is lodged behind the old BBQ, which is in turn lodged behind patio set. Debbie prods Sam into helping Ron, and Sam swears so much in the process that Ron ends up joining in as a sort of duet. Debbie nearly wants to cover Randy’s ears, because although she’d told Ruth that she doesn’t mind people swearing in front of Randy, she doesn’t want Randy’s _first word_ to be fuck.

For the final two minutes of trying to figure out how to strap the car seat in, Debbie has a rising panic in her throat, because what if Mark turns up? Debbie’s not scared of him, she’s not, but she does know how well she would manage to stand up to him this time, without a post show high coursing through her veins.

Her goodbyes to her parents are hasty, and she just ignores her Mom’s final question of “What should I tell Mark?” She gestures at Sam.

“Just drive, will you?”

Sam does as he’s told, pulling away without asking any further questions. He pulls out of her Mom’s street, and joins at the intersection. Debbie feels herself start breathing again.

“How are you doing in the back there?”

Debbie looks at Sam in confusion, and then back at Randy.

“Are you, are you expecting him to answer? He doesn’t talk yet.”

Sam shrugs, and reaches across her, into the glove compartment. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“Shit, well I don’t know when they become sentient, do I? Does he smoke?”

“Are you fucking insane?”

Sam grins at her, patting his pockets down for a lighter.

“I’m just joking with you, Debbie. Just teasing you. Can’t expect me not to have a little fun. So where are we going?”

Debbie grits her teeth, annoyed at having not spotted Sam’s joke, and then removes the lighter from Sam’s hand.

“You don’t smoke either - not in a car with my baby.”

“Seriously? How about I wind down the windows?”

“No - just fucking eat it if you need it that much.”

Sam mutters for a moment, and then looks up in the rear view mirror, at Randy. “You’re mom’s no fun, you know that, mister? So where are we going, _Debbie?_ ”

Debbie sighs, putting both hands to her temples and rubbing.

“To, oh god, to my house I guess. Stay on this road. I need to get Randy’s cot and stuff, and some diapers, so that he can stay in the motel with me more often - I’m not giving him to Mark.”

Debbie’s unsure about the practicalities of this plan, but it’s the only one she can think of right now. Sam probably has a whole list of queries about the impossible nature of this, but wisely decides to not raise any of them. Debbie continues.

“So, if you can stay, just while I load up my car? But then obviously I can drive myself back.”

Sam nods, and then scratches at the back of his head.

“Yeah, but then do you think you could do me a favor? Seeing as I took a punch from your husband and have become your personal taxi driver.”

“Sure” says Debbie, hoping for something simple. Sam clears his throat.

“I need you to go and find Ruth, and like, convince her to come back to the show. She was at my door at the crack of dawn, bags all packed. She’s quit. And so, I don’t know where her over-dramatic ass would end up, but I figure you do.”

Debbie says nothing. She remembers the harsh words she’d thrown at Ruth, the unnecessary vindictiveness of leaving her naked on the bed. Debbie feels a pang of regret, even as another, less compassionate part of her mind tries to reason that Ruth had deserved it.

 _That wasn’t a favor Ruth…_ ironic, really.

She sighs. “Fine. Though I don’t know what you think I’m going to say to her.”

Sam clears his throat carefully, suddenly taking a keen interest in whatever is going on in his driver side mirror.

“Well, she seemed… pretty focused on the fact that you hate her. So, I don’t know. Start by saying you don’t hate her. Then I don’t know. Ad lib.” 

Debbie looks down at her hands.

“And what if I do hate her?” she says, despising how small her voice sounds.

Sam wisely says nothing. Debbie tips her head back on the headrest.

She doesn’t hate her. Not really.

Admitting that might be difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debbie's usual life choices of "I'll just power through and ignore all this shit" speaks to me on a deep personal level.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - IN CASE YOU WANTED TO SAY SOMETHING NICE IN A LESS FORMAL SETTING
> 
> also - SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN


	15. Hardly a Sonnet

Ruth finds her apartment in exactly the same state as she left it. 

She’d been packing hurriedly, and had rifled through her own drawers as if she was committing a burglary. Her bed was covered in clothes from her wardrobe, and there are piles of dirty washing that she’d just never gotten around to. Plates are stacked in the sink. It’s disgusting.

Ruth’s mouth twists in distaste at the scene. She’d planned to come back, the day after they moved into the motel. Just to get things sorted. But then one day had blurred into another and there just hadn’t been time, not for something as low priority as tidying her home. 

At least there wasn’t a pile of threatening bills waiting for her. Ruth had been receiving a wage, these last few weeks. Not much, but enough to get all the companies off her back. 

That’d stop now, of course, Ruth thought glumly. And it isn’t as though she’d developed any experience compatible with the regular jobs she goes for. She’s back to zero, only this time Ruth doesn’t have a best friend, either. 

She should clean up. Ruth settles her bag on the couch, and surveys the scene of devastation with her hands on her hips.

There might be a beer in the fridge. Ruth checks, and yes, right at the back, that weird European beer that had been on offer six months ago and tastes like piss. Success. 

She opens it, and looks again at the mess.

Maybe tomorrow. Ruth sits on the couch.

…….

Sam had tried his best, he really had. He’d actually complimented her, had run several compliments off at once. The show had been great, the crowd had loved it, it was nothing without Ruth, Debbie was nothing without Ruth. 

She’d almost been able to enjoy it, the feeling that suddenly she was crucial. But it just wasn’t true. Sam could find another heel for Debbie. And Debbie had made it pretty clear last night that things were irrevocably broken between them.

A weird thing to communicate, via the medium of the most intense orgasm Ruth had ever experienced in her life, but. If she removed the haze of arousal, Ruth could see it now. It was just another, more devastating way of Debbie showing her how deep the rift was, how irreparable. Why just _tell_ someone you hate them, when you can _show_ that you hate them when they are at their most vulnerable?

Of course, she couldn’t say all of this to Sam, and he’d had a hard time understanding why she was leaving now.

“Because she hates me, and I can’t keep working with someone who hates me.”

Sam had thrown his arms wide in exasperation.

“Christ Ruth, surely the laws of averages means that she hates you slightly less now. Her husband fucking humiliated her, do you not think that some of Debbie’s endless rage is now pinned on him, not you?”

It hadn’t been enough, and of course it wasn’t enough. How could Ruth say that she knew her heart was going to break every time she looked in Debbie’s direction, every time she heard her name? And then the idea of being able to wrestle her, with all that intimacy… well, it was just out of the question.

So she’d left, handed her keys back to Gregory, wished him luck with the woman that he sometimes had, and driven back to this shit hole. Happy home coming.

After a couple of hours, the horrible beer is long gone. Ruth finds a packet of cereal, and it’s stale, but its something. She considers going to the store, but finds that she just can’t muster the energy.

There’s a knock at the door.

Ruth nearly doesn’t answer, but then levers herself off the couch. If it’s the landlord, she doesn’t want him thinking that she’s died. He’d have someone else in here in the space of a week. 

She checks the chain is on, and then opens the door.

Debbie is standing there. Ruth feels her heart drop out of her shoes. 

Debbie looks harassed, and as if she would rather be anywhere else, but she’s here. Standing at Ruth’s door. With… Randy in her arms?

Debbie seems to be a little lost for words, but follows Ruth’s gaze to Randy on her hip, and shifts him upwards slightly. She clears her throat. 

“Look, I’m here because - not because of me, you understand, but Sam said- oh jesus, look, can I just, can we not, just, can we not?”

Ruth is pretty certain that there wasn’t a sentence in there. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Debbie sighs, and then nods.

“Okay, we probably do need to talk, but, can we just hold on that, and can I use your bathroom to change this one? He’s, god, I don’t know, there might be some kind of swamp down there - would that be okay? I have all his stuff here.”

Ruth nods automatically, and then opens the door fully. 

“Sure, I mean, I don’t know how clean it is though.”

Debbie strides in, bringing Randy and an undeniable stink in with her.

“Well, we aren’t going to make it any cleaner I’m afraid. Christ knows what my mom has been feeding him…” and with this, she’s at the bathroom door, and closes it with one apologetic glance at Ruth.

Ruth stands stock still for a moment, unable to catch up with recent events. Through the thin bathroom door she can hear Debbie speaking with a baby voice to Randy.

 _Who’s a little stink goblin then? Hey? Who’s the little stink - oh jesus_.

Ruth bites her lip, tries not to laugh, and then tries not to cry. Her brain presents emotions to her at random, as if seeing which one if any will work for the current scenario.

Debbie is in her bathroom, changing her baby. 

After a second of agony, Ruth remembers that her apartment looks like she’s had a breakdown. 

She darts forward, determined to get as much tidied as possible in five minutes.

…….

Debbie emerges from the bathroom looking half traumatised. Randy is gurgling in her arms, angelic to the core.

“Oh, now you’re adorable. Now you are still.” Debbie sighs grumpily at him, and then gives him a kiss on his head. “He likes to flip himself around whenever it is crucial that he is still. But don’t worry - the bathroom is safe.”

Ruth is unnerved, completely unbalanced by the normal nature of this conversation. Debbie seems… relaxed? Ruth doesn’t know what to make of it. Is it possible that she doesn’t remember last night?

Randy sees Ruth, and reaches out a little hand to her in a sudden gesture of recognition. Ruth looks at Debbie, searching for permission. Debbie gives a small half tilt of her head, face inscrutable. Ruth takes this as acceptance, and takes his hand between two of her fingers, and waggles it about gently.

“Hey there big guy; have you been scaring your mommy?”

Debbie snorts at this, and says “Scaring and scarring…”

Sounds familiar, Ruth thinks, truculently. Randy wiggles a little in Debbie’s arms, full of a baby’s determination. 

She looks at Debbie, after a moment. Debbie’s eyes aren’t on her face, but on her neck line. Ruth knows that there are visible marks on her neck from last night, marks that Debbie left on her. She’d meant to wear something to cover them, or at least put some make up on them, but she’d just not gotten around to it. Ruth flinches a hand up to cover them, feeling embarrassed, even though it is Debbie’s work rather than her own.

Debbie looks away hurriedly, and is there something there? Anger, or maybe regret? Ruth doesn’t know why she can’t read Debbie’s emotions any more.

Scanning her apartment, Debbie seems to see the state of it for the first time.

“Was there some kind of localized tornado that I didn’t hear about? Or are you holding a sale?”

Ruth sighs. It’s the sort of thing that Debbie’s been saying to her ever since she found out about Mark. They did it before as well, Ruth remembers saying “I miss you being making fun of me”, from a time that feels several years ago.

These days Ruth could do without a Debbie that uses insults as the most gentle way she’s willing to interact with her. And after last night… Ruth realizes that she’s on the verge of crying, god help her. She blinks several times rapidly, and returns to her bedside, picking up where she left off.

“I just, I wasn’t expecting guests, and, I left in a rush so… look, I can no longer tell when you are trying to make a joke or when you are trying to hurt me, so can you give me some kind of hint?”

Ruth’s voice goes all wobbly when she says _hurt me_ , but she finds that she doesn’t care that much. Debbie always seems to think that she experiences emotions alone, in some kind of vacuum.

Ruth folds two t shirts in the pause before Debbie answers.

“That was a joke. A, um. A crappy one. And I mean, christ, you should see the state of my house.”

Ruth doesn’t answer, it’s all a bit too much of a nothing for her to formulate a response. After a moment Debbie comes to stand on the opposite side of the bed, and scans it. 

“Look, I can help.” Debbie has propped Randy up on one of the pillows, and is reaching for a miscellaneous piece of Ruth’s clothing. Ruth remembers, with appalling clarity, fucking Mark on this bed.

She snatches the material out of Debbie’s hands, and throws it on the floor next to her.

“No, no, I don’t want you to.” Her hands are trembling now. Ruth turns away, trying to hide next to the wardrobe, ridiculously. She just can’t deal with Debbie in her apartment, Debbie with her perfect hair and make up, with her _baby_. Ruth thinks that for one awful moment she is going to start sobbing.

She gets herself under control with an effort, and straightens her shoulders. Debbie is still standing by the bed, although she’s picked up Randy again. Ruth wonders if the tears had come for real, whether Debbie would have just walked out. 

She knows that Debbie isn’t a bitch, isn’t that sort of person, but Ruth’s stinging, just raging with hurt all over. She can’t help but expect the worse.

Debbie clears her throat.

“So, you can’t leave the show.”

Ruth stifles a half laugh, because the show is the _least_ of her priorities right now.

“Why, you pissed that I got there first? You can’t leave the show dramatically because I’ve already left?”

Debbie scowls at her, and looks around the room, at Ruth’s sad mess of a life.

“No, what? I’m not leaving the show, I can’t prove Mark right for one thing.”

Mark. There’s that name again. Ruth would give anything to be able to erase him from existence. She climbed on top of his dick. She feels sick, instantly. She rubs at her face, trying to ignore the bed, the damn bed, in between her and Debbie, the worst fucking metaphor ever. 

“I can’t- I can’t do it any more. I can’t be on the show if you still hate me. God, I can barely look at you right now, let alone wrestle with you-” Ruth claps her hand over her mouth to prevent anything worse coming out, although it’s already bad enough.

Debbie has the decency to look away, and hoists Randy a little higher, switching arms. Randy pats one hand on top of Debbie’s breasts, as though wondering about lunch. 

Debbie murmurs to him, “no, you are switching to bottle aren’t you, mister biter…”, and then looks back at Ruth, looking exasperated. “Well, I don’t _hate_ you. So, you know. Hate is simple, and you… you are- you are complicated to me right now.”

It’s a hardly a sonnet, but Ruth will take it. It allows her to feel a notch more normal, a notch more under control. Debbie watches her face carefully, always cautious, always on her guard. Ruth risks another sentence.

“But you left. Last night, you just-”

It’s the first tangible reference to last night, and Ruth can feel the blush starting. And god help her if she doesn’t just start remembering, every heart bursting detail, the ways Debbie had kissed her, _jesus_.

Debbie’s eyes could be burning a hole in the wall, the furious way that she looks at it. But there’s a blush starting on Debbie as well, and she tilts her head to the side once, as though trying to power through it.

“Yes, I left. Did you think I was going to, god I don’t know, cuddle you? But. I don’t know. There’s more between us than just you fucking Mark. That’s, I can’t, we can’t pretend its _just_ that, I don’t care how good you are at acting.”

A beat. Ruth stares at Debbie. This is the closest to a conversation about the non normal nature of their friendship that they’ve ever come. Debbie seems to realize this as well, and clears her throat hurriedly.

“And so, Sam sent me to come find you. To tell you to come back to the show. Because I don’t hate you. And, I don’t know. No-one else can do a Russian accent.”

Ruth bites her lip, and the image of Rhonda trying to sound Russian surfaces. Debbie’s trying to make her smile, Ruth realizes. She’s trying to hide behind a joke as per usual, but it is a joke designed to make Ruth feel better, and it does, fractionally.

After a second Ruth sighs, and then asks the same old pointless question. 

“Are you still angry with me?”

Debbie’s face flinches slightly, and then she cautiously says “Yes?” She rearranges Randy, and then continues. “But I’m not… I don’t know. I’m not _more_ angry. And you could cope before? And…and I’m trying to deal with it, okay? I don’t want to be constantly angry.”

The walls seem to press on Ruth. Now what? Ruth tries to consider the idea of wrestling Debbie again, but her mind keeps unhelpfully throwing images at her of last night. It’s embarrassing, the way she’d been so desperate for anything, _anything_ from Debbie.

Ruth looks down at the floor. “I feel, I don't know. The way I just… I mean, you talk about power balance, but last night I was just-”

Debbie clears her throat hurriedly. “Yeah, well, we just need to be able to wrestle each other. The rest…” Debbie trails off. Ruth can feel her stare. Debbie starts again “I don’t fucking know either. But like, can you touch me?”

Ruth looks at her, eyes wide. Debbie clarifies, looking furious with herself. “I mean, in the ring? Can you still do the moves? Cause I’m pretty sure I can still touch you. We won’t, I don’t know. Die. And that’s all we need.”

Ruth shrugs. Debbie’s assurance that they won’t die is weirdly comforting. “I mean, I guess so.” 

Debbie nods, looking as though she is coming up for air after a deep dive. “Okay, well. Turn the fuck up. To training tomorrow. Because, you know. We’re best when we’re together. Separately we’re just two failed actors with a weirdly specific new skill set.”

Ruth grins at that, helplessly. Debbie smiles back at her, before seeming to remember herself. 

“Okay, well, I have to go. I’ve got a car full of Randy’s stuff and I have to figure out how to re-build a cot before night time. Fuck knows Sam has got no practical fathering experience…”

“Sam is Justine’s father.” Ruth blurts it out before she’s really thought about it. She’s just keen to contribute something to the conversation that doesn’t feel like its been directly ripped from her heart. “That’s why they both went awol.”

Debbie raises her eyebrows at her.

“Huh. Huh? Well. We’re all dealing with our own shit, aren’t we?”

Ruth gives a half smile. “Positively wading through it” she says, cheerfully ironic.

“We can’t all go get black out drunk though…” Debbie bites her lip, and then nods at her.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay” Ruth says simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - feedback is good. 
> 
> I won't be able to post as frequently for the next month or so I'm afraid. I'll be aiming for a couple a week.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com. Come watch me be inappropriate about Betty Gilpin (oops)
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN


	16. Master of Diplomacy

“Alright, here we all are. Back to the fucking grind. Try not to actually grind. I hear it is unsanitary.”

Sam seems to lose his thread, and stares blearily at each of them in turn, as if wondering who they are. Cherry clears her throat pointedly. Next to Ruth, Jenny murmurs “Is he drunk?”

Sam zones in on the comment, and points a finger.

“No, no I am not. I was, last night. And then, I don’t know, I took some hay fever medicine, which was a mistake because I don’t even have fucking hay fever but I do have a sore throat, and I thought it might help…” Sam trails off. Next to Debbie, in the stroller, Randy chooses this moment to gurgle loudly. Sam gives him a wave.

“You and me both kid. So, yes. It was a good show. You all did good, okay. Well done everyone. Now we have to figure out what we do next. Now that everyone is in the room.”

Artie raises her hand cautiously.

“Isn’t that, your job?”

“My job, yes, ah ha ha, although, see, all my planning time was interrupted by low level stuff, like trying to convince the star to not leave the show at three in the morning and, I don’t know, being a baby shuttle.”

Everyone looks at Debbie, on the front of the bleachers. She realizes after a moment, and places a hand to her chest. 

“That wasn’t me. I mean, I was baby shuttle, but it was Ruth who left the show.”

The girls all look at her. Ruth shrugs, not sure what to say.

“I just wanted to see what it felt like. You know. For character development.”

Sam laughs at this shortly, and then spreads his hands.

“Doesn’t matter. Rasputin is back with us, you didn’t suck, all is well in the world.”

Tammé taps Debbie on the shoulder.

“You let him drive your baby?”

Debbie shrugs, and then says “He’s a good driver, actually. He uses his blinkers. And I was having an emergency.”

Melrose snorts, and says “Was there an earthquake I missed?”

 _“Anyway”_ says Sam, pointedly raising his voice. “Here we all are. Shiny in our triumph. The show is due to air in five days, so somehow I’ve got to find the time to edit it at the studio. And you all have to keep training. We work as if we’ve already been commissioned a series. So, yes. Get to it. And mind the baby.”

Rhonda speaks. “Who do we fight? In the story. Is there a story? Who should we be training with? We can’t keep wrestling the same partners all the time.”

A few of the girls murmur in agreement. Sam runs his hands through his hair. 

“Look, I don’t know yet, I don’t know yet. Debbie is with Welfare Queen at least, because at some point she needs to get the crown. Unless someone else fights Tammé and wins it, and then Debbie fights them? I don’t fucking know. Just do some general training. And like, riff. See what ideas you come up with. I have to go now, start the editing.”

Ruth speaks up. “We can’t just train with no narrative, no direction?”

Sam gazes at her, as if seeing her for the first time. 

“Ruth! Ruth is in charge of narrative for the moment, seeing as she did such an excellent job of narrativ-ing her way through the first show. Ruth is Narrative Wrangler, bring your ideas to her, she’ll write them down on a piece of paper, we’ll shove it in a blender, and maybe paper mache our way to a story line. Okay? Now I have to go. Just, mind the baby, okay?”

……

The girls just do strength training in the morning. It’s easier, they know what they are doing, and the rotation has already been half set in routine.

Debbie sits on a gym mat next to Tammé, and from their snatches of conversation, Ruth can hear that they’re talking about becoming moms. Ruth remembers that Tammé is the only other woman here who has a child.

Debbie fighting Tammé would be too straightforward, obviously. And what about the rest of them? There needs to be some kind of narrative that weaves through the whole show. They need motives to fight each other… otherwise there’s nothing for the audience to invest in.

Ruth swears to herself, and leaves the medicine ball on the floor. She runs up the stairs to Sam’s ‘office’, and roots around until she finds a pen and paper. 

She writes down all of their names, and then stares at it, pondering. Obviously a face can’t fight a face, unless there’s a motive. But it doesn’t matter if a heel fights a heel, one of them just becomes the least hated. And obviously they can’t pull the same stunt of Debbie emerging from the crowd, that one has gone…

Ruth paces up and down a couple of times. She then scrawls a big note on a separate piece of paper, leaving it on Sam’s desk. _Pay me more if you expect me to do this._

She goes to stand on the stairs, and watches the girls, hoping for some inspiration.

The ad-libbed desperation that she had come up with at that crack prevention fundraiser comes to her mind. Ruth really does feel proud of what they were doing, she really is amazed by what they had achieved. It’s feels like a miracle.

And there’s Debbie. Ruth finds she doesn’t need to look for her, she can pick her out without trouble. 

She feels relieved, Ruth realizes. As though the last few days have been the thunder storm that they needed, the thunder storm that had been building for god knows how long. And now…

Ruth doesn’t know. She doesn’t know where they are at. But she’s feeling more confident that Debbie can look at her without _only_ feeling hate. They’re complicated. Like Debbie said.

Complicated things can be simplified. 

Of course, it doesn’t stop Ruth’s heart clenching in panic, when Debbie looks up abruptly, and catches Ruth staring at her. She averts her gaze quickly, pretending for some foolish reason that she’s actually inspecting the ceiling joists. 

Ceiling inspection complete, Ruth risks a glance down again. Debbie hasn’t restarted training, instead she’s just gesturing in Ruth’s direction, all while talking to Tammé. Tammé seems to be responding in kind, and Ruth has _no_ idea what they can be discussing, but she quickly clears the scene, retreating back into the office.

Ruth stares at the sheet of paper for a few moments, trying to pick up her line of thought. Then she hears footsteps on the stairs. Probably Debbie, coming to tell Ruth to stop staring at her. Ruth tries to act natural. She picks up the piece of paper. She leans on the table. The table, it turns out, isn’t sturdy enough to be leaned on, and it goes scraping across the floor. Ruth stumbles and just manages to right herself, as Debbie walks in.

“Hi!” Ruth says brightly, too brightly, and then gulps nervously. Debbie raises her eyebrows at her, and then looks around the room.

“So this is where the power lies huh? How’s it feel to be promoted?”

Ruth gapes at her, and then looks down at the sheet of paper.

“Oh, I don’t think this counts as a promotion. Sam just, I don’t know. Said that so that the girls thought someone knew what they were doing. But, ah ha” Ruth snorts out a little half laugh, and flaps the sheet of paper at Debbie. “I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

Debbie takes the piece of paper from her, and looks at it once. 

“I’m always so jealous of your handwriting.” Debbie muses this, half to herself, and then glances at Ruth. She continues “You write like a Jane Austin character. Whereas mine is-”

“Frankenstein.” Ruth smiles at her; this is an old conversation, one they must have had five or six times before. It might be more. Debbie seems to say some version of the same thing to her each time she sees Ruth’s handwriting.

Debbie returns the smile, and it’s permission, Ruth realizes. To be a little bit more normal. Ruth isn’t sure how she feels about Debbie _granting permission_ to have a normal, but hey. One step at a time.

Debbie clears her throat after a moment, and then says “So do you think you could come and write down your wrestling vision next to me? Randy’s getting really antsy whenever I’m not directly in his line of sight. Tammé thinks that he needs a familiar face, and, well, you’re the only one.”

Ruth could do without the mild suggestion that Ruth is Debbie’s absolute last choice, but she agrees anyway. Besides, maybe that wasn’t what Debbie was trying to say. Maybe that was just Debbie justifying her interruption.

Randy is waggling his arms around, and grizzling slightly at nothing. Tammé is bouncing him up and down slightly in her arms, but he won’t be soothed.

“It’s just too much new stuff at once” she says authoritatively. “New sights, new smells, new noises, new people, and mommy can’t hold you all the time, can she?” Debbie takes Randy back, and with her free hand wipes his face with a cloth. She holds him, and tries to sooth him, kissing the top of his head and murmuring little half words at him. Ruth, for reasons beyond her, finds this extremely difficult to look at. The idea of Debbie being _gentle_ …

Debbie looks at her. “Do you think you could… he just needs someone he knows to hold him for a while? And if you could encourage him to take his pacifier that’d be great.”

Ruth nods gamely, and automatically adjusts her stance, spreading her feet and crouching as if she’s in the ring. Debbie bites her lip at this, and tries not to laugh.

“Okay, that’s not- he’s not going to try and fight you. You have held babies before, right?”

“Sure” Ruth says, confidence personified. “Several. More than two. Not dropped one. One hundred percent success rate.”

Tammé laughs at her, and then says to Randy “Oh boy, you are in for a _treat_.” Debbie approaches Ruth slowly, eyeing her as though she’s having second thoughts. However Randy, master of diplomacy, spots Ruth, and then leans towards her. There’s an awkward moment of transition, but then Ruth has Randy in her arms, and Randy is patting her face. 

Debbie says close, and murmurs to him. “There we go. There we go. You stay with Ruth for a little bit, while Mommy lifts some kettle bells.”

Debbie is very close, and Ruth could swear that she feels a shift in her heart rate. Debbie steps away before she looks at Ruth.

“He should, he usually settles after about ten minutes and then you can put him in the stroller.”

Ruth nods, and then says “Should I like, take him for a tour? If he starts to see the other girls, then maybe in the future he won’t be so unnerved.”

Debbie considers this, putting her head on one side and looking at Randy. “Yeah, that might help. But, I don’t know, I don’t want to interrupt your planning or whatever.”

The empty sheet of paper is next to the stroller, where Ruth had left it. Ruth shrugs. Randy is warm in her arms.

“It might inspire me; taking a walk around, watching everyone.”

“Okay, well.” Debbie nods, looking unsure of herself. “Bring him back over if he starts up again. And, uh. Thank you.” Debbie looks as though she’s experiencing a mix of emotions, her child in the arms of the woman who fucked her husband. 

(But they’re more than that, Ruth remembers. They’re more than that.)

…….

Of course, circulating the gym with a baby in her arms is a very quick way to make sure everyone comes up to speak to Ruth. 

It is difficult to remember that the last time they were all together, Mark was yelling at Debbie in the parking lot. Ruth was the reason for all that yelling, back to being the _other_ woman, the home wrecker. It would be easy for the girls to turn on her, particularly as they clearly felt so protective of Debbie. 

But as she walks around, Randy is the reason for the conversations to have simple staring points. He also works as a symbol. If Debbie’s baby is in her arms, then Ruth and Debbie have clearly declared some kind of truce.

Randy gets attention from nearly everyone, in varying forms. Jenny and Artie make silly faces at him, Carmen tries to play peek a boo, Dawn and Stacey mainly compliment his style choices.

“Oh god even her baby looks like someone from a catalogue.”

Rhonda makes baby noises at him, and Cherry lets him touch her hair, even as she grumbles “Keith’s the baby man, he would be all over this little one.”

Reggie is unsurprisingly awkward with him, and mainly asks Ruth questions that she can’t answer, like when he will start walking. Randy stares at Reggie with big eyes, entirely expressionless. Reggie stares back.

Justine is near silent, clearly unused to interacting with babies. She’s basically only just stopped being a baby herself, Ruth remembers. And Melrose obviously doesn’t come near, practically flinches away as Ruth walks past. “Oh god, not a sprog. I can’t do it, babies hate me. They start crying when I approach. They can see my evil.”

Most surprising of all is Sheila. She plays with him for a good five minutes, although it isn’t really playing in the way that Ruth understands. She waggles both her hands around, and Randy starts copying her, gurgling. Then he’s reaching out to her, and Sheila allows her face to be patted, and her hair to be examined. Sheila keeps making little humming noises, and Randy puts a pudgy little fist next to her mouth, as though trying to find where the sound is coming from. 

“You’re good with babies” Ruth says, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. Sheila nods.

“I like them. They don’t ask stupid questions. They don’t try and figure it out.”

After another few moment, Ruth can feel Debbie looking at her, and when she cranes around, Debbie beckons her over. Ruth weaves her way back across the gym.

“Okay?”

Debbie’s sweating, having clearly exerted herself. When she straightens up, Ruth has to fight the urge to stare, openly.

“Yeah, just didn’t want things to go full Jungle Book over there. And um, we were wondering if you’d had any ideas about who should be fighting who?”

Carmen is sitting next to Tammé, and looks up at Ruth curiously. Ruth shakes her head, because nothing concrete has formed, she only has half ideas swirling around. 

“No. I mean, I don’t really know what Sam’s overall plan is, and it’s hard, I can’t just throw it all together if he’s going to come along and rip it all up.”

It sounds like an excuse, it really is an excuse, because Ruth hasn’t been concentrating on the show whatsoever. The excuse seems to be accepted easily enough though. Tammé nods.

“Well, if me and Debbie are going to be fighting, we’ll need some new moves. Because you’re strong Debbie, but you aren’t going to be throwing me over your head any time soon.”

Debbie nods, and then gestures at Carmen.

“Carmen was just saying that her brothers would be happy to do some training with us again. Because, I don’t know. We still want it to look cool.”

Carmen shrugs. “They’ll be able to give you something. And Tammé will have to learn how to catch Debbie if she’s going for the jump again.”

Ruth feels slightly put out at that, because that’s their move. Her’s and Debbie’s. But of course, that’s not how it works. Debbie tilts her head to one side, watching Ruth.

“We were wondering if you wanted to come? Tomorrow. Because, you and I still need to train. The Cold War doesn’t end in one throw down.”

Ruth smiles softly, and looks at her. Randy chooses this moment to burp. Debbie rolls her eyes. 

“And, I don’t know. You’re good with Randy. We could go for that drink afterwards, maybe?”

Ruth nods. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - I'm totally down for a cheer routine.


	17. Assimilate

Tommy claps his hands together heavily. The noise startles several birds out of a nearby tree, and he looks up at them in surprise, before focusing back down on Debbie, Tammé and Ruth.

“So! Dad says you didn’t suck. That’s good - step one; not sucking.”

Carmen has Randy on her knee, and is jiggling him about, outside the ring. “We were awesome Tommy, you heard Dad.”

Tommy glowers at her, and then smoothly ignores her.

“After _not sucking_ , step two is to be better. Each fight. Just drama isn’t any good - you gotta have the moves. Otherwise you just look stupid.”

Kurt nods, agreeing. “Like Shakespeare in the park.”

Ruth blinks in surprise, and Debbie mutters “how cultural.” Tammé looks at him.

“You know Shakespeare?”

Kurt rests his hands over his heart. “Othello gets me every time. That Iago, man. Bastard.”

Debbie can feel Ruth’s in take of breath next to her, and knows, she _just knows_ that Ruth is about to set off on some kind of character analysis of Desdemona. She opens her mouth before Ruth can begin.

“So, yeah, we need some new moves. Or at least, some way of making what we know look better. It’s likely that Tammé and I will be fighting at some point, and-”

Tammé gestures down at herself. “I can throw her about, but she ain’t going to be able to throw me.”

Kurt eyes Debbie appraisingly. “Show me your arms.”

Debbie holds out one arm for inspection. Kurt tuts at her. “No, but, flex.” Debbie complies. Kurt prods at her bicep, and then says “What are you benching?”

Debbie glares at him. “Not like, a whole person.”

Carmen cuts in again. “You know she doesn’t need to be able to dead lift Tammé - it’s half momentum. They’ll be able to do some throws.”

Ruth speaks up. “But is that in character? Would Liberty Belle be throwing people around, or just dramatically coming up with a last gasp winner at the end?”

Debbie is about to roll her eyes, but then Kurt agrees. “Yeah, you’ve got a point. There’s like, evil moves and heroic moves. Context is important.”

Tommy looks exasperated, and then punches Kurt’s shoulder. “Dude, I had this whole speech and you’ve keep butting in and talking about…” Tommy glances at Randy, and lowers his voice “about _bleeping_ Shakespeare.”

Debbie looks up at the sky. “You can swear in front of the baby.”

With a startled look, Tommy shakes his head. “Oh, no. No no. I don’t do that.”

Great, Debbie thinks. A six foot something pro wrestler is a better mom than me. “Can we just… get on with something please.”

…….

Debbie’s on edge. She knows that she’s only half concentrating on the moves, half concentrating on the advice of Kurt and Tommy. She allows herself to be thrown in a hazy, automatic sort of way, bouncing off the ropes and then getting her feet all in the wrong position, so she can’t recover and run like she is supposed to.

“Sorry, sorry… can we go again?”

It’s just, this time it is different. Tammé is here as an extra person, and so obviously Ruth is sitting with Carmen, waiting her turn. But it’s different, being _watched_ by Ruth, compared to having Ruth in the ring with her. Debbie is embarrassed, anxious not to suck. 

Ruth, via some divine intervention, seems to realize this after fifteen minute of crashing incompetence on Debbie’s part. She turns away, focuses on Randy, taking him onto her knee and bouncing him around. In between the mock screams and the relentless feedback from Kurt and Tommy, Debbie can hear Ruth chatting away to him.

“What’s mommy doing? What’s she doing? Woo, look at her go, whoa, big crash. _Big_ crash, ahhh, wasn’t that exciting?”

It’s a small improvement, having Ruth commentate rather than sit in silence watching her. But it’s enough, and Debbie manages to pull it together, actually wrapping her legs around Tammé’s shoulders at the right time and using her weight to pull Tammé to the floor.

Kurt claps a couple of times, and then says “ _There_ you go - just like that, but with a bit more of a flip.”

Debbie’s out of breath, all the wind knocked out of her. She manages to give Kurt a thumbs up, but it hurts, it does hurt.

It’s also different this time, because Debbie knows that she’s organized with her mom to come collect Randy after this training session. God knows what her mom will make of this, but needs must. Mark remains out of the question.

Eventually he’s going to show up. Debbie just knows it, can feel his presence edging closer. There’s no way she can just expect him to neatly delete himself from her life. Debbie crashes to the floor again, but this time manages to have her arms braced for impact, so she can actually recover upright without feeling like she needs a paramedic.

And then there’s the question of going for a drink with Ruth. Debbie had said it on impulse, mainly as a demonstration to Tammé and Carmen at the time. She’s not mentioned it since, but. They could, do that. Debbie find she can consider this. She’s not permanently angry at Ruth all the time now, now the flashes of anger only come when she thinks of Mark, and Debbie’s trying not to do that at the moment. She has other emotions towards Ruth now. Highly specific ones, linked to highly specific memories. Like how Ruth had moved underneath Debbie’s hands.

And so, she could just play dumb, and pretend the offer was never made. But, Debbie can’t deny that she arranged childcare specifically with the half arranged drink in mind.

She slams to the floor again. And again. And again.

When it is time to practice with Ruth, things become a little easier. Kurt wants to see Debbie fly at Ruth, and when she does it from the third rope, Tommy claps his hands together loudly.

“Oh yeah - that looks good. That looks good.”

They move on to the new move, the one that Debbie has already half managed with Tammé. Ruth’s skin is warm underneath her hands again, but it somehow doesn’t matter. Debbie’s already sweated through her t-shirt, she knows she must stink, but here she goes, basically just straddling Ruth’s face and flinging her to the floor in the same way she had done to Tammé. Of course, Ruth is way easier to topple than Tammé, and she falls too easily, and Debbie rolls off her, checking whether she needs to apologize. 

Ruth is fine, of course she is fine. She just blinks at the sky a few times, and then gives a reassuring glance at Debbie, before seeking feedback from the brothers. She went down too quickly, she needs to hold Debbie up there for at least a moment. Ruth nods, the picture of studious concentration. Tommy suggests bracing her legs a little earlier, and having her hand higher on Debbie’s back, and one on her stomach, for counter balance.

“And Debbie, you’ve got to hold yourself up there too. Like, lift up, don’t just sit on her face. You’ve gotta keep the momentum of the move upwards for as long as possible, otherwise you’ll both be down and out before the audience has even seen it.”

Debbie bites her lip, and works really hard to repress a sudden urge to giggle. _Don’t just sit on her face Debbie_ , she thinks _that’ll never work_.

She meets Ruth’s eye accidentally, but there’s a shared flicker of amusement there as well. Debbie allows herself a smile, and then gets to her feet. 

“Okay, let’s try again.”

…….

Her mom is wearing gym wear as well, for some unknown reason. She has a sweat band on her head. Debbie boggles at her.

“Are you going to a costume party?”

Her mom laughs at her, and then waves happily at Ruth, before coming to coo at Randy.

“What has your mommy gotten herself into? …No, I just wanted to be supportive, you know. Blend in. Assimilate.”

Debbie automatically looks at Ruth for help with a response to this statement, who grins widely. 

“You look great Laureen. And why not, you know? Do you want to have a go at wrestling? And you won’t have met Kurt and Tommy will you… the Lumber Jacksons.”

Her mom gapes at them, and then insists on getting into the ring and bouncing off the ropes hesitantly. “Debbie” she calls, “Do you think I could be a wrestler?”

Debbie rolls her eyes, and crouches over Randy, kissing him on the head and sniffing his butt. All good.

“Sure Mom, you’d be great - maybe that’ll be how you can convince Mrs Stoltzman next door to keep a tighter check on her lawn.”

Her mom doesn’t respond to this, is instead now making small talk with Kurt and Tommy about the size of the ring and whether it stays out all year. She leaves them to it, packing up Randy’s bags and pulling on her own sweat pants. Ruth sits down next to her, dragging on a sweater and taking a drink of water.

“USA and Russia have nothing on your mom and Mrs Stoltzman.”

Debbie laughs despite herself.

“It’d be a grudge match. Mom would come riding in on a lawn mower.”

Ruth giggles at her, and then says “The crowd would go nuts.”

Debbie straightens up, taking out her hair and retying it into something hopefully more acceptable, but it’s hard with no mirror. She asks the question before she can second guess herself.

“So, do you want to go for a drink? Just at Tino’s, or whatever?”

She’s quite glad that she isn’t looking at Ruth’s face. Debbie finds that she doesn’t want to know what Ruth’s first response is.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

……..

By the cars, once Debbie’s got Randy settled in her mom’s car seat, her mom clears her throat in the way that she does when she is about to broach a difficult subject. And, of course, her mom checks that no _strangers_ are in ear shot. But she doesn’t include Ruth in that category, because by her mom’s understanding, they’re still best friends. So Ruth is only a metre or so away, and her mom includes Ruth in the conversation.

“Listen honey, Mark has called our house a number of times. He sounds very…. well, he’s very keen for an opportunity to apologize.”

Debbie laughs automatically at this, and then says “Well I don’t want to hear his apologies, so he’ll have to just deal with that.”

Ruth says abruptly “Actually, I think I forgot something” and disappears back around the house. It’s a small mercy. Her mom continues on.

“You will have to speak to him at some point Debbie. He’s a turd, obviously, and you can do far better, but- he is Randy’s father. He does have rights. And he’ll start turning up, you know he will.”

Debbie sighs heavily, and closes the car door. 

“Look, I know that, I know that. It’s just… tell him I’ll call him in a few days.”

Her mom looks sharply at her. “And will you?”

“Yes” she says, grumpily. “He can wait another few days. I don’t want to deal with him now. I haven’t got the energy.”

Her mom pats her on the cheek once, lovingly.

“You are doing your best, I know. Look after yourself, and don’t worry about Randy. Go have a nice time with Ruth.”

A nice time, Debbie thinks. Sure.

……..

They make it to Tino’s, somehow. 

Debbie hasn’t changed, deliberately said that she wasn’t going to change, just to underline categorically that this wasn’t _that_ sort of drink. So they both arrive disheveled and sweaty, and the girl behind the bar gives them a look she probably reserves for hobos.

Ruth murmurs to Debbie “Do they have a dress code here?” and Debbie has to swallow a laugh. 

“Well, they can try to kick us out. But I will make a scene.”

After sliding her some money, Ruth goes to bag a booth. There’s barely anyone here, because it is - what, 5.30pm? On a Tuesday. They can kick them out if really want to.

Debbie orders Ruth her usual lime and soda, and gets a coffee for herself. And then, on impulse, she tags “oh, and a shot of tequila? Just up here please. Thanks.” The girl looks at Debbie as if her hobo suspicions have been confirmed, but Debbie just stares her down.

She necks the shot quickly, hoping that Ruth isn’t looking at her, but not willing to risk looking around furtively to check. She’ll just have to brazen it out, if Ruth says anything.

Ruth looks up at her when Debbie approaches, a cautious grin creeping about her mouth.

“Nothing says wrestling warm down like a shot of Tequila.”

Damn. Debbie slides herself into the booth opposite Ruth, and rolls her eyes. 

“I just really wanted to freak the server out. And also, you know. I have a problem.”

She states it in such a deadpan way that Ruth laughs at her. Debbie smirks, and turns away, making a show of checking where their drinks are. She refuses to think about how much she missed doing stuff like this with Ruth, because this isn’t the same. They aren’t in the same place.

When Debbie looks back at Ruth, she suddenly has no idea what to say. Ruth’s tied her hair back, and there’s still a smudge on her forehead from where she made unplanned contact with the canvas. But… she’s really pretty, Debbie thinks, helplessly, angry at herself. Five plus years and still this? That main, over-riding response? God help her.

She clenches her jaw.

“So, you fucked Mark.”

Ruth blinks, and its probably worse than a slap. Debbie continues, shrugging and trying to not sound defensive. “What? You said that you wanted to go somewhere and talk about it? I assume that this is the purpose of the drink?”

Nodding unhappily, Ruth looks down at the table. “Yeah, I mean. I guess we can do that now, if you want? I just… I thought this might be about something other than me fucking your husband.”

The server brings the drinks over at that point, and Debbie knows that she’s heard Ruth. Great, she thinks crossly. Maybe they should make out as well, just introduce the server to the entire shit show of their relationship.

Debbie takes a deep breath, and tries to exhale slowly. Ruth takes a sip of her drink, and looks down at the table, the chipped paint work.  
“So, do you actually want me to talk about what happened with Mark?”

Debbie snorts, and says “fuck no” easily and automatically. The idea of Ruth calmly explaining to Debbie how she ended up in bed with Mark is just- Debbie presses one hand to her forehead, and rubs there, trying to ease the pressure.

“No, I don’t want that. I just… you heard my mom say he’s been calling. He’ll appear at some point, with a piece of paper, all ready to read a speech about why he is right and I am wrong.”

Ruth bites her lip, and says nothing. Debbie’s hand is on the table, and for one moment she wonders if Ruth is going to reach out to her, and squeeze her hand reassuringly, but it doesn’t come. Debbie hasn’t given permission for that kind of contact, she realizes. She looks away. 

“So, yeah. I have a lot of Mark in my head at the moment. I don’t need… I don’t need further information to process right now. There is a…” and she gestures vaguely at her head “a backlog.”

Ruth doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say anything for so long that Debbie is forced to look at her. And then Ruth sighs. 

“If it helps, my head isn’t feeling particularly calm either.”

Debbie tilts her head at nothing, and then says “Yeah, well, it doesn’t help, but what can you do?”

Ruth gives a short little half laugh at that, and Debbie wants to smile at her, surprizes herself about how hard she has to fight the urge to offer up just a little smile. Just to show that she’s maybe not as angry with Ruth as she’s been trying to convince everyone.

She takes a gulp of her coffee instead, and it’s too hot, it burns. 

“I miss you.”

Debbie looks up at Ruth sharply, but she isn’t looking at Debbie, she’s looking at the bar as if she is talking to the server. Ruth continues.

“I mean, I miss, I don’t know. Whatever we were. I just need to know that you think we can get back to, something. It doesn’t need to be everything, but…” Ruth’s eyes fill up with tears abruptly, and she looks down, trying to hide it. “But I do miss you” she finishes, sounding as though she’s worried about being pathetic.

Now Debbie is considering reaching out to her, squeezing her hand, or something. Any kind of contact. 

“Jesus Ruth”, and she laughs gently, softly, trying to tell her its okay “I’m pretty sure that, back when we were okay, we had conversations about small stuff. You don’t have to trot out the greatest hits.”

Ruth blinks several times, and then smiles at her with watery eyes. “Well, I don’t know. Just count yourself lucky I haven’t referenced whatever the other night was.”  
Debbie blushes, but Ruth is blushing too, and there’s a neutrality in their shared embarrassment. Debbie speaks first.

“I- yeah. That was. A lot.”

Ruth snorts. “You think?”

Debbie is not okay with how close she is to laughing. She takes a sip of coffee, blowing on it this time first to avoid permanent injury. Ruth watches her.

“Okay, so that would also count as trying to do a big conversation. But, um. I miss you too. I think we should, I don’t know. Concentrate on fixing us, before we, before any…”

Debbie trails off, suddenly anxious that she’s just revealed too much. Like she is projecting a future in which she and Ruth are something other than slightly fucked up friends.

“Before anything else” Ruth finishes Debbie’s sentence helpfully. Debbie nods, and then points a finger, in case this all gets too friendly.

“Please don’t forget I’m still extremely pissed off with you.”

Ruth nods, and says “Got it” but things are different now. Ruth is smiling at her. Debbie looks away, exasperated with her desire to kiss her.

“Okay, look, can we actually do some small talk? Like, tell me more about Sam and Justine will you, or the weather, or something, I don’t know…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (IS THIS NOW FLUFF? GOD HELP ME)
> 
> Chapters will be up twice a week for a while now.
> 
> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - come say hi and yell with me about wrestler girlfriends.


	18. Square Two

One morning, when Ruth is confident that Sheila isn’t likely to return any time soon, Ruth turns off the shower, and walks to the mirror by the front door. She has her towel over her shoulder, but has only given herself the most cursory of pats dry. She leaves a trail of drips behind her. 

The mirror by the front door is the only full length one they have. Ruth scrunches at her hair a couple of times with the towel, and then drops it. She turns to one side, inspecting herself.

Her body has changed. Her thighs are bigger, and feel harder. Ruth now has arms which have definition to them, and when she flexes, yes, those are genuine muscles. Her stomach is flatter, and she just feels healthy. Her body is on her side, rather than being a thing to fight against.

Of course, she is covered in bruises. They’re all down her legs, but also on her lower back and butt. Some of them are finger marks, from where Debbie didn’t quite get it right and had to pull Ruth towards her, rather than lifting her. Ruth doesn’t mind. She barely notices when it happens, and it is usually Debbie who realizes that she got it wrong. Debbie always apologizes to Ruth in a whispered half sentence, usually while standing with her hands on her hips and sucking in air.

Ruth steps closer to the mirror, this time coming to inspect her neck. 

The bruises from that night with Debbie are almost gone, faded and tiny. Ruth won’t have to use make up any more. She isn’t sure that her make up efforts were actually that convincing, but luckily everyone is covered in unexplained bruises, and necks are grabbed on a frequent basis. Ruth doubts that anyone actually registered the marks at her neck.

Anyone except Debbie, that is. Ruth was aware of Debbie’s eyes on her, with each passing hour. Her gaze on her neck, at frequent intervals. Checking, Ruth decides. Checking for… Ruth doesn’t know. Progress?

They’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, she muses. And then there’ll be no evidence left at all.

It’s been a week since they recorded the show. A week since… everything else that happened that day. It’s due to air tomorrow morning. They’ve barely seen Sam, but Bash has breezed by a few times, assuring them that it’ll be great, everything will be great, and then they should know if they’ve been commissioned for a series by the end of tomorrow. 

Ruth picks up her towel, and walks away from the mirror. She pulls clothes out of her drawers automatically; this with this, and also that. It no longer feels weird, spending a whole day in a leotard.

If the show doesn’t get picked up… Ruth doesn’t know what happens then. She goes back to her apartment? She starts auditioning again? She sees Debbie at that aerobics class again, once a week, Tuesday morning.

They’re nowhere near fixed. Ruth doesn’t even know what fixed looks like. They’re in a different place now, better than when Debbie couldn’t look at her without scowling. But it also isn’t the same as before Debbie found out about her infidelity- no, Mark’s infidelity. Can you cheat within a friendship? Ruth has given up on processing.

Now there is a different tension thrumming between them. And so what if they can barely refer to the fact that they’d fucked, again? It’s still there. The memory will fade far slower than the bruises.

As much as Ruth doesn’t know what she will do if the pilot isn’t picked up, she’s drawn a total blank when it comes to what _Debbie_ will do. She'll go back to the house? Move in with her Mom and Ron? And Debbie will have to work now, but that’ll be hard with Randy. Unless she does try things with Mark; financial security would be a powerful motivator.

Once she’s dressed, Ruth checks herself in the mirror once more, although what she is looking for she isn’t sure.

…….

Debbie arrives late, Randy in her arms. Ruth smiles at her, but Debbie doesn’t seem to see. She looks harassed, and she strides over to the bleachers with Randy’s carry chair, saying something inaudible to Tammé as she passes.

Ruth tries to continue with her warm ups, stretching her legs out on the mat and reaching forward. Her muscles grumble, but comply, and Ruth winces as some of the lactic acid from yesterday makes itself known.

She expects Debbie to come sit with her on the mat, because that’s what they have been doing recently. They’ll stretch together, and discuss what moves they want to work on. They’ve been putting together a new routine, because even though Sam hasn’t given _anyone_ a clear direction of who is wrestling who, Debbie and Ruth both know that they’ll fight again. It’d be inevitable. Besides, as Debbie had said. They're the best at it.

Debbie doesn’t come over though, and Ruth deliberately makes a point of not looking around for her. She does her squats, and her lunges, and the sit ups that always hurt, and the pull ups that always feel utterly impossible until she is up there, and still Debbie doesn’t come over.

Giving up, Ruth does finally look around. Debbie is sitting on the benches, next to Randy, feeding him from a bottle. Cherry is next to her, and they both look like they are talking in low, urgent voices.

Ruth can go over. She can. She is Debbie’s… friend? Well. Something like that. Training partner definitely. Ruth is allowed to go over and check that everything is okay. That’s fine. That’s just normal.

Debbie looks away from her as Ruth approaches, looks down at Randy as though checking on him. Cherry watches her approach carefully. Ruth does her best not to falter. This is normal, just normal co-workers checking on each other.

“Hi - everything okay?”

Cherry looks at Debbie, who glances up at Ruth as if she’s only just noticed her. Debbie smiles tightly.

“Yep. Fine.”

This non-statement doesn’t give Ruth much to work with, but she powers on regardless.

“Are you… will you be- do you want me to work with someone else today?”

Debbie sighs, and then gestures irritably. “I don’t know. Do what you want, why does it- you don’t need my permission.”

Ruth retreats, unsure of herself. “Okay, sorry, I didn’t- I was only- sorry.” She’s cowed, but also irritated, by Debbie’s dismissive attitude. Cherry murmurs something to Debbie, and she rolls her shoulders, trying to relax.

“No, actually, could you um. Do you mind watching Randy for a moment? I…left something in the car.”

Ruth nods, and Debbie stands. Cherry stands as well. Debbie looks at Ruth, but they are only glancing looks, as though her gaze refuses to settle on her for too long.

“Thanks” Debbie says shortly. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

Ruth nods. “Sure thing.”

…….

They’re gone for an hour. Ruth doesn’t notice the first ten minutes, doesn’t mind the first half hour, but-

An hour.

Randy is a placid baby, seemingly content to switch his attention from Ruth’s face to his rattle to the ceiling. He goes still every time there is a crash of a body landing in the ring, and seems to look around for the noise. When he starts to get restless, Ruth plucks him out of his carry chair, and rests him on her knee, holding him upright so he can see the source of the noise.

“Lookit, look, _ready…_ , whoa!”

Ruth bounces him up and down in tandem to each crash landing, and Randy gurgles happily, waving his arms around. Ruth smiles, enjoying the moment despite herself.

After another few minutes, Carmen comes over.

“Hey - are you babysitter number one these days?”

Ruth grins, and mock salutes. “That’s me - Debbie’s going to get me a sash to wear or something. Epaulettes, you know.”

Randy recognizes Carmen, and he reaches up to her. She picks him up gently, and lifts him high in the air once, before settling him on her hip. Randy looks around, enjoying his new position. Carmen smiles at him, and then says “Wow, you are a very chill baby considering your mom is so…”

“Not chill?” Ruth supplies helpfully. Carmen laughs, and then looks around curiously. “So where did they go?”

Shrugging, Ruth says “To Debbie’s car. She left something in it.”

Carmen raises her eyebrows. “And where did they leave the car?”

Ruth looks down, and then stands, stretching. “Great, I was all warmed up and now I’ll have to start again.”

Carmen starts to say something, but then the gym door opens with a crash. Sam appears, followed by Debbie and Cherry.

“Good morning everyone, how is Callanetics going? I’m here to, you know, check the baby, is the baby here, ah yes there he is. Come sit the fuck down everyone.”

They slowly assemble themselves. Artie stops next to Sam, and whispers something low at him, but Sam replies in his normal voice.

“No, no, I’ve checked, swearing in front of the wriggler is fine. Smoking is a no, and I’d imagine I’m also not allowed to do crack, but swearing is all good, am I right Debbie?”

Debbie rolls her eyes, and says “yes, whatever. Can you just-” Carmen passes Randy to Debbie at this moment, and she kisses the top of his head, settling him on her knee. She looks at Sam again, seemingly slightly more in control. “Can you get on with this? Please.”

Sam spreads his hands in a mock bow, and addresses everyone. “She’s right of course, Debbie’s right, I’m sorry to interrupt your wrestling practice slash sitting in your car having a chat time-” at this point he stares meaningfully at Debbie and Cherry, but they give him such blank looks back that it’s like throwing pebbles into the ocean. Sam continues after a moment.

“But. We need to - who have you been practicing with? At least one new person? Good. If you could just, you know, tell me, and then I’ll figure something out. How’s that?”

He puts his hands on his hips, expectant. The girls all look at each other, and then slowly start explaining who they have been training with, but its obvious what they are thinking. This is hardly how they expected the show to be put together. Sam looks like he is only half listening, as though what they are saying about their training for the next show only half matters.

Ruth feels a clutch of unease at her stomach.

Sam nods through all of their comments blandly, and then points at Ruth. 

“Okay, you. I want you to come with me upstairs, and we’ll go figure this out.”

Ruth stands, feeling a flash of panic because she certainly hasn’t got any ideas. The rest of the girls start moving away, returning to their original training spots. Debbie stands, and now it isn’t just Ruth being paranoid, something is different. The line of Debbie’s shoulders is tight, and she doesn’t make eye contact with Ruth as she walks past, doesn’t even reference that Ruth has been watching Randy for an hour.

Ruth half wants to make a scene, demand an answer, but she is hyper aware that no one else has noticed. Whatever has upset Debbie, it’ll only be worse if Ruth calls attention to the fact that she’s blanking Ruth again.

After a half second of hesitation, Ruth follows Sam up the stairs, into the shabby office. She starts speaking, feeling ridiculous for providing excuses because where the fuck has Sam been?

“Okay, so I don’t actually have anything concrete for you, I was just waiting to see- I mean, I didn’t want to assume any kind of creative control, and besides I’ve been learning some new moves with the Lumber Jacksons…”

“Who?” Sam squints at her, looking dazed. Ruth gestures. 

“You know, Carmen’s brothers.”

Sam blinks at her for a few moments, and then goes to sit on the couch, lying on it in one swift collapse.

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. So here’s the deal. I can’t edit the footage together. The studio need it, and I can’t fucking do it.”

Ruth feels something slip from underneath her. Foolish, she thinks. How positive she’d been feeling this morning.

“What do you mean you can’t do it? Why- you brought me up here to tell me that?”

Sam puts a hand over his eyes.

“I thought, you know, you’re like, good with a clipboard. I thought you could tell the others.”

Ruth looks around, staggered. “What, why would you think I’d do that? Why are you here? Go back to the studio and just do it. God, it’s meant to be airing in less than twenty four hours.”

Sam sits up again, and speaks slowly, as if deliberately drawling his words.

“Yeah, so it turns out that a wrestling show is different from a fucking movie. I can do a movie. Give me chainsaws and screams and I’m your man. But this one, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

Ruth feels like yelling at him. All this work, and he’s ducking out at the last minute?

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how hard we’ve worked? How much emotional and physical energy we’ve put into it? And you’re giving up because the aesthetic doesn’t _appeal?_ Just edit it together as if it is the actual show that we did.”

Sam stares at her, for a long moment, and then says “You don’t understand.”

“What is this - some kind of artistic crisis? Just fucking do it, I don’t why you would…” Ruth stops, and then presses her hands to her eyes, abruptly on the verge of crying. It isn’t fair, she thinks, lip wobbling like crazy. “I’ve been through physical and emotional blitzkrieg for this, and you, what, you’re finding pressing all the buttons tricky?”

Sam sighs flatly at her, and then points. “You know, this isn’t a very good pep talk.”

Ruth snorts, and says “Well, its more than you’d get from Debbie. She’d have-” Ruth doesn’t know why she is talking about Debbie. Why does she always revert back to Debbie? “She’d have killed you” Ruth finishes lamely.

Sam shrugs, looking at the floor. “No she wouldn’t, not in front of the baby.”

Ruth half laughs despite herself, and then Sam is standing up, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Okay well, thank you for your sound advice. Just fucking do it. I’ll just go and fucking do it, shall I? Just, mash it together.”

Ruth shrugs. “Well, it isn’t like… it’s not like its going to win any awards. It’s wrestling. Just, I don’t know. The next show can be the one you win awards for.”

Sam laughs shortly at that, and then opens the office door. “Good talk Stalin. Okay, well I’ll go to that. Just fucking do it. Jesus. Or you’ll cry, that’s a great motivator.”

Ruth watches Sam leave from the top of the steps. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, and his shoulders are hunched. Ruth doesn’t know enough about him to know whether this is just his usual routine; some people have to have a crisis of confidence before they can do anything. Ruth hopes this is the case.

Debbie’s gone. Ruth scans the gym twice, but she’s definitely not there. Ruth feels her heart fall. She doesn’t know how she is supposed to make any progress, if Debbie is so … she doesn’t even know the word. Annoyingly unpredictable springs to mind.

Cherry glances up at her, and then approaches the bottom of the stairs, indicating that she wants to talk. Ruth sighs, and heads towards her.

“Everything alright? Do you need me to hold the baby?”

Cherry crosses her arms.

“No need to take that tone. Debbie asked me to say thanks. She’s gone.”

Ruth looks up at ceiling, inexplicably weary.

“Okay. Well. Great. That’s a real - that’s great. I just don’t understand… why one day everything is fine and the next day it’s like back to square one again.”

Cherry sighs. “Look, if it was square one she wouldn’t have asked me to say anything to you. She wouldn’t have let you touch Randy.”

Some comfort, Ruth thinks. Square two, with an infinity of squares stretched ahead of her. She must be looking particularly pathetic, because Cherry relaxes her stance slightly. 

“Get a drink with me. When we break for lunch. Come have a coffee.”

Ruth nods. It can’t hurt. 

(Well, it can. Luckily she’s been working on her pain threshold.)

……….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THINGS CAN ONLY BE COMPLICATED. NOTHING SIMPLE IS ALLOWED.
> 
> sponsored by PATIO TOWN
> 
> Come say something nice to me at yotoob.tumblr.com - bring me your elaborate head canons about wrestler girlfriends, and I'll basically just scream at you about Debbie Eagan.


	19. Four Days out of Five

Cherry dumps an alarming amount of sugar and creamer into her coffee. Ruth watches with wide eyes, wondering how anyone can drink that just before getting thrown around for three hours. Next to Ruth’s hand, the condensation from her glass of water leaves a gradual puddle on the table. 

Glancing at her, Cherry adds one more spoon of sugar, as though challenging her to comment. Ruth sets her mouth.

“Can the spoon stand up in it yet?”

Cherry grins at her. “My weakness. My _only_ weakness, you understand.”

Ruth rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the smile. “You are so full of shit.”

Cherry laughs at her, as if she’s just been surprized, and takes a theatrical sip, with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

It’s like a helium balloon, tied to her low spirits. Ruth feels them lift incrementally, before settling again. 

Debbie didn’t even look at her. It’s fucking stupid, attaching her happiness to the question of what mood Debbie is in, particularly as Debbie’s moods are as unpredictable as a feather in a hurricane.

Cherry is watching her.

“So, Debbie had to speak to Mark. She called him, otherwise he would have just turned up, and, I don’t know. Snatched Randy out of her hands. That’s why she was in a funk today.”

Ruth looks at her, curiosity winning the race.

“Won’t she, I don’t know, be annoyed that you’re telling me this?”

“Debbie Eagan don’t scare me. Also, she is going to tell you, I’m sure. She just- needed a bit of cooling down time. Because she’d just hung up the phone, and then suddenly you are there.”

Ruth says “But I’m not Mark.” Cherry rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, but you also ain’t stupid. So, see if you can figure out the connection.”

Ruth shrugs, taking an unhappy sip of her water. “What did he say? Mark.”

Cherry hesitates, seemingly considering how much info she is going to give Ruth. And then she sighs.

“Predictable stuff really. All the usual stuff shitty men do when they are threatened with not having their own way. He’s lawyered up, he’s making threatening noises about filing for sole custody of Randy, you know. Debbie thinks that he's just talking shit. But then there’s the house, the problem of where she is going to live. Money. It’s all going on in her head.”

Ruth nods, glumly. “And that makes her angry with me.”

Cherry takes another sip of her coffee, wincing slightly when she swallows. “Well, it _is_ hard. Cause you are the trigger, you can’t deny that. And sure, leaving Mark is clearly the best thing for her long term happiness, but that sure don’t help to make things easy right now. Not easy to look you in the face and not see you as the reason for a hell of a lot of shit.”

Ruth sighs, rubbing her eyes. “We need to be able to wrestle. At least. And, we can’t, operate on this basis if one day in five Debbie has a “I hate Ruth’ day. 

Cherry groans at her, sounding weary. “You know she doesn’t hate you. Just, shit is complicated, right now.”

Complicated. There’s that word again. Ruth takes a drink, wondering where Debbie is right now. Yelling at Mark somewhere?

Cherry is looking at her curiously. 

“So, why did you sleep with Mark? Cause it’s not down to some kind of animal attraction.”

Ruth waves a hand wearily. “I’m not- I’m not going into that now.”

Shrugging, Cherry says “Suit yourself. Anyway; we’re all going to watch the show tomorrow in the motel tv lounge - early doors, but Dawn and Stacey managed to convince Gregory to open up. Well, probably just yammered on at him until he agreed to shut them up. You’ll come?”

Ruth nods, and then says “Is Debbie coming?”

Cherry lets out a deep sigh “This is all a little bit high school, you know that?”

Oh, she knows.

……

It’s getting to the point where it is weird seeing Debbie out of gym clothes or crazy wrestling costumes.

They accidentally arrive at almost the same time; Debbie is around ten metres ahead, and stops at the door, looking awkward.

“Hey” she says, and Ruth notes that Debbie is actually managing to look at her today. Great. Today is an ‘I don’t hate Ruth’ day.’ Ruth offers up a weak smile, but her resentment must be obvious, because Debbie sighs.

“Look, I’m sorry. About yesterday. I’d just- I had to speak to Mark, and he was being a bastard, obviously, and… it got to me.”

Ruth shrugs, trying and failing to let it go.

“I mean, I guess I should be used to that sort of thing by now.”

Debbie nearly glares at her, and says “I wouldn’t play the martyr card too many times Ruth.”

Great, now everyone is in a bad mood. Debbie pinches the bridge of her nose once, and seems to relax. 

“Fuck. Sorry. I swear I am trying to move on it’s just… hard.”

Ruth nods, slightly mollified. “Okay. I just- if there’s anything you need me to do to help you move on, or anything I’m not doing…”

Debbie smiles weakly at her. “No, you’re doing fine. It’s my own- I have a lot going on that I have to figure out.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Debbie doesn’t seem to be wearing many clothes. There are bare legs, and bare arms. Ruth’s brain does some calculations all by itself, of exactly how far she’d have to step forward, how much she’d have to reach up, in order to kiss Debbie. Ruth resolutely ignores the findings.

“Okay, we should-”

Debbie nods quickly, and starts speaking as well. “Yeah, god, don’t want to miss it. Although, _ahhhh_ , I don’t know if I want to see it either.”

They’re one of the last ones there. There’s obviously not enough space on the couch, so Ruth takes a place on the floor. Cherry shifts sideways in her seat and beckons at Debbie, who steps forward without hesitation, and sits next to her.

The channel has been checked multiple times. The time has also been confirmed more times than an SWAT team operation. Ruth wonders what will happen if Sam just gave up on editing. Will there just be an announcement of the delay, and then they’ll have all gathered to watch some other shitty day time show?

They’re anxious, Ruth can feel her nerves in her fingertips. Artie says what Ruth was expecting Debbie to say - _what if no-one watches? What if they’re terrible?_ Ruth has to fight the urge to laugh.

And then suddenly Bash is on screen. Jenny screams, and is shushed loudly.

And then… it’s happening. They’re on the television. The people who are sitting next to Ruth, are also on the screen. It’s like an out of body experience.

The girls whoop and cheer and high five whoever is on the screen. They look good, Ruth can’t believe it. They look like wrestlers, they sound like wrestlers, they _are_ wrestlers. When did this happen? It seems to have snuck up on Ruth without her noticing.

The final fight starts. Ruth watches herself, somehow looking larger than life, stride onto the screen. Jenny is pretty much horizontal by now, she’s lying on the floor wiggling and groaning. Dawn throws a cushion at her.

“Shut up you look great!”

Ruth and Jenny beat the Biddies. It’s funny, Dawn and Stacey are really funny. Ruth had thought that they were just incompetent, but she can see now that it is a really specialized form of incompetence, the sort that she can’t do. They’re good enough to look really bad at doing the difficult moves, but still managing to pull it off. It’s hilarious, especially when contrasted with Ruth’s complete poker face. Sam seems to have made a point of using whatever footage he can find of Ruth looking cold, forbidding, and half mad. Ruth doesn’t know if Sam isn’t trying to make a subtle point here. She makes a mental note to smack him, after congratulating him. 

Ruth turns to look at Debbie, who looks _so nervous_ that Ruth can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. Out of all of them, she’s the one who should be the most used to seeing herself on television, however Ruth thinks she understands. Debbie was never on television in this way. She was always gently gently, softly softly. Now she’s about to throw a Soviet over her head. 

The girls scream when they hear Debbie call out “I’ll fight you.” The camera finds her in a hazy, haphazard sort of way, crash zooming in on her face. God damn it if Sam hasn’t underlaid her speech with the Star Spangled Banner. Ruth has her head in her hands, she almost can’t take it, it’s so good. Her legs are trembling.

Reggie yells out “Debbbbbbbie”, both fists in the air. Ruth looks around again, and Debbie’s got her hands covering her face, peeping through her fingers. Cherry is pounding her on the shoulder, seemingly not noticing that she is doing, and Debbie shoves her away after a moment, laughing at her excitement.

Zoya and Liberty Belle fight on screen. It’s so good, they look incredible. Ruth keeps glancing around to look at Debbie, and Debbie keeps grinning at her, apparently unable to do anything else. 

Debbie does fly, she literally flies at Ruth, and Ruth falls, and they land, and the crowd goes wild.

Gregory comes to check on them, five minutes later. Because they haven’t stopped yelling. Ruth isn’t sure exactly who is still yelling - she definitely did a shift herself, but now someone else seems to have taken over. They’re all lying on the couch, arms wrapped around each other, talking and yelling and swearing and crying, triumphant.

Gregory turns off the television, and stares blankly at them.

“You all have, some kind of seizure? Do I call the police, or medical help?”

Ruth thinks about extracting herself, taking him to one side and thanking him, but she has no idea how that conversation goes. _Thank you for letting me create an unflattering pastiche of you and your fellow country men for the sake of a wrestling show and my floundering career and floundering life_? Ruth isn’t sure he’d take kindly to it. 

Melrose yells, from somewhere near Ruth’s armpit.

“We should go _out!_ We should _party!_ ”

Carmen manages to say “But it is ten am on a week day”, but this is drowned out by the approving cries of several loud voices. 

Ruth discovers that she is one of them.

…….

Turns out that, even in the party town of Las Vegas, mid morning on a Thursday is not peak party time. They drive past two closed bars, before Melrose has a stroke of genius from the front seat.

“Oh, _fuck_ \- we should go to Bash’s place! Let’s see what his manservant is wearing today…”

Florian looks startled when he opens the door to them all, but he stands aside and waves them in easily enough.

“Bash invited us” Rhonda says confidently, breezing her way past and heading into the main room. “He said we should all come here to celebrate. Because we are tv stars now, did you know that?” Rhonda gasps suddenly, and points at Florian. “And so are you!”

Florian gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up, and Rhonda hugs him, squealing. Melrose pats him on the head absentmindedly.

“Great job Flor- say, do you know if that robot has been filled up again? We have a party to fuel.”

Florian seems completely relaxed about the notion of hosting an impromptu party - in fact, Ruth would guess that he’s probably just permanently on stand by for just such an occasion. Drinks appear. Snacks appear. Sound systems appear.

Debbie appears.

“They’re sleeping together, right?”

Ruth looks at Debbie, and can’t help but remember the last time they were here. _I’ll throw you through the fucking window_. Ruth has no idea if Debbie even remembers saying that, considering how drunk she had been later on. Or if Debbie remembers the way she stared at Ruth out of the rear view taxi window, all the way down the drive.

Then Ruth hears the question, and she frowns.

“Who?”

Debbie looks at her as though saying _duh_ , and then says “Bash and Florian. A live in man servant is sneaky code for boyfriend, I think.”

Ruth looks around her, slightly startled by the nature of this conversation, because it is very relaxed, and maybe just a bit too close to home. Debbie’s already got a drink in her hand, in fact has two, and passes one over to Ruth. Ruth takes it clumsily, smiling her thanks.

“Um, I don’t know. I’d never really thought about it.”

Debbie tips her head to one side, and she’s being playful, Ruth realizes. 

“Okay, well why don’t you think about it, you know, as you wander around this precise fashionable home with the giant art of beautiful men on the walls…”

Ruth smiles, and Debbie just looks at her, and if Ruth didn’t know better she’d say that Debbie was looking at her lips. Ruth licks them once, automatically, and Debbie looks down, taking a hasty gulp of her drink.

They’d made a half agreement, Ruth remembers, over drinks and a near argument, to try and fix their friendship before ‘anything else’. But when Debbie steps past her, unnecessarily close, Ruth’s mind is full of ‘anything else’. Maybe Debbie has forgotten about the friendship to fix. Maybe-

“I’m going to go ask Florian some unsubtle questions. In the pursuit of truth.”

Ruth nods, half laughing, and half something else, because Debbie has murmured that in her ear in a way that feels like the beginning of a whole separate conversation.

“Okay - good luck.”

…..

Ruth feels…. maybe a little more wired than she usually would be just after lunch on a Thursday.

She’s not drunk more than one drink in a long time, she recalls. Alcohol is expensive, and the training…. she’s not sure. Ruth didn’t drink at Bash’s other party, although that was primarily because a) she felt like shit and b) she’d wanted to be able to run away in a straight line if Debbie had actually come after her.

Debbie. Ruth snorts a little to herself, and then rotates on the spot to find her. Debbie’s on the other side of the room, talking in a distracted way to Stacey and Dawn. She’s leaning on the wall behind her, looking, _god_. Ruth makes a mental note to never make unreasonably beautiful friends in the future, because clearly she will fall in love with them. It’s just… science.

Although it isn’t. It’s Debbie. She doesn’t… Ruth sighs heavily. Debbie doesn’t seem to operate in reality, for Ruth.

Ruth startles herself by thinking about how much she wants to do _more_ than just kiss Debbie. Her head’s a mess, but she wants closeness, and pressure, and skin, and Debbie’s moans in her ears. She wants- _fuck_. Ruth takes a large gulp of her drink, as though that’s going to help. 

Friendship first is all well and good, but it isn’t doing anything to relieve Ruth’s desire to just climb on top of Debbie and take things from there.

Debbie’s looking at her. Ruth blinks, and then challenges herself not to look away. And then… but then Debbie doesn’t look away either, just seems to stare her down. And then they’re both just looking at each other from across the room, while the hubbub of the party goes on around them. And Ruth could swear, she could swear that Debbie isn’t thinking about friendship either. 

God she wants her, Ruth thinks helplessly. And then a hand waves over her face.

“Hey- are you okay? Are you even listening to me?”

Ruth blinks owlishly at Carmen, and then nods. 

“Yeah, this punch is really good.”

Carmen laughs at her, and says “Oh, that conversation was from like, five minutes ago. What is up with you?”

Words. Words words. Ruth opens her mouth, having to use every fibre of her being to not say something like “oh, it’s just that Debbie’s standing over there and she’s like, distracting.” But then a door opens, and Bash comes crashing in, stumbling and then righting himself against a wall.

“We did it!” he yells triumphantly.

Ruth raises her arms above her head, as a number of the other girls cheer reflexively. Sam comes staggering in after him, pieces of paper in his hand.

“They’re doing it!”

Ruth’s arms are already above her, so she can’t raise them again. She puts her drink down instead. 

“Wait, doing what?”

Sam looks at her, and then waves a piece of paper around expansively.

“A series. They’ve commissioned Glow. Fifteen episodes…”

The rest of his sentence gets drowned out, as the other girls understand what he is saying. The cheers turn into screams, and then he and Bash are being mobbed, mobbed by the rest of the girls, and they’re all shouting and screaming and hugging at once. 

Ruth looks at Debbie. She hasn’t moved, and is looking at Ruth. And then she puts her drink down, and tilts her head, indicating that Ruth should follow her, before disappearing further into the house. 

Ruth doesn’t need any encouragement. 

……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPONSORED BY PATIO TOWN (I'm going to be pissed if there is a patio town that I am actually giving free promo to GODDAMNIT I JUST GOOGLED IT AND THERE IS AH FUCKING PATIO TOWN ASLDFHASJLDKFJ)
> 
> anyway. yotoob.tumblr.com. Tell me that I'm doing a good job and give me a cookie.
> 
> (FUCK YOU PATIO TOWN) (FOR BALANCE) (OTHER PATIOS AVAILABLE)
> 
> (I FEEL LIKE AO3 IS FOR ~SERIOUS BUSINESS~ AND SO WHY I'M HERE JIBBERING I DON'T KNOW. PLEASE PRETEND YOU DIDN'T SEE THIS)


	20. Two Second Touch

Alcohol can be a wonderful excuse. It can be the reason you finally tell your Aunt Mabel that you don’t like her pot roast. The reason you get up to dance on an empty dance floor. The reason you accept your boyfriend’s proposal, because that’s what people are supposed to do.

Debbie’s not even drunk. It’s just, she has had a drink or two, but not enough to do anything other than to get her relax, slightly. But, (and this is the important factor); Ruth knows that Debbie has had a couple of drinks. That means that any… _out of character_ behavior can be attributed to the drinks. Debbie Eagan has to be sensible, but if she’s had a drink…

It doesn’t help that Debbie is still running on the high of seeing Liberty Belle and Zoya look _fucking amazing_ on television. It doesn’t help that she’s still trying on a new, all embracing attitude of ‘to hell with consequences’. It doesn’t help that Sam had just barrelled through the door, announcing at least fifteen more weeks of feeling like a goddamn superhero.

It doesn’t help that Ruth has just spent five minutes undressing Debbie with her eyes. That was an undeniable factor.

Debbie had thought that they reached a kind of truce. No referring to anything complicated. Just, work on being friends while Debbie tries to figure out exactly how long it’ll take before she can forgive Ruth. How long it’ll take to be able to look at Ruth and not remember that she chose to sleep with Mark, in a giant _fuck you_ to Debbie.

But… but then Debbie had flirted with Ruth, because she’d fucking _wanted_ to. Stood too close and whispered in her ear. And that had given Ruth permission to stare at Debbie, the want undeniable in her eyes. The power balance was exactly where Debbie had needed it to be; Ruth wants her, and so Debbie is safe to respond in kind.

None of this is healthy.

Debbie feels as though there were two voices in her head. There’s ‘sensible Debbie’, who is telling her that rifts like this take time to heal, and that physical intimacy is not the same as emotional intimacy. And there’s ‘fuck it Debbie’, who’s already pretty much undone her bra.

She doesn’t know Bash’s house very well - her memories of the last time she was here are blurred at best. But what she is looking for… the phrase _somewhere quiet_ is replaced by _somewhere private_ , which in turn is replaced by _spare bedroom_ , until she finally settles on the word _bed_.

A bed. In a room with a door, and they can just lock the world outside.

This corridor looks promising….

“Debbie, where are we-”

And here’s Ruth, interrupting her train of thought, probably aiming for a question that Debbie doesn’t want to answer. Why does everything always have to be justified with Ruth? Debbie looks around at her briefly, and then takes her hand, leading her down the promising looking corridor.

It’s enough to shut Ruth up, and the rest of the question doesn’t emerge. Ruth’s hand settles into hers, and just that touch sends a wave of want through Debbie. 

She can’t remember the last time she held someone’s hand. Debbie would guess it was probably Mark, back when she was actually trying to pretend that she was happy to be married to him. But his hand was always slightly clammy, and he would always rearrange her fingers to suit him, and Debbie never felt anything other than a vague sense of duty.   
She’s never held Ruth’s hand before, not like this. Debbie can’t even be surprized at how good it feels, because she can’t keep pretending to herself like this. It isn’t a surprize to feel good at Ruth’s touch. It’s something that she’s been thinking about for a long time. 

She opens one door at random, and finds what looks like a store cupboard. And that is… incompatible with Debbie’s needs. 

However, the next one looks unused, despite the enormous built in wardrobes that line one wall. And there’s a bed in it. 

Jesus Christ is this happening again? Sensible Debbie makes a last ditch effort to get a rein on things, because they can’t just keep doing this and not actually communicating in between. She could just pretend that, that she had random need to show Ruth a piece of art that she’s having trouble tracking down. Or, that she couldn’t find a bottle opener, and two heads are better than one.

This doesn’t work in the slightest however, because then Ruth has pushed Debbie up against the wall and has kissed her, hard.

Part of Debbie is utterly taken aback, as the idea of Ruth having some autonomy in this situation was completely beyond her. But then Debbie feels her breath hitch in her throat, and she kisses her back, bringing her hands up to cup Ruth’s face. She strokes her thumbs over Ruth’s cheek bones, parting her lips and letting Ruth control the kiss.

Ruth’s sigh of approval does something to Debbie, and she wants Ruth to press even closer, to remove any lingering doubts about whether this should happen or not. 

Whether this should happen. Debbie can’t… she knows that this is just a stop gap, that at the end of it all, she’ll still be left with her anger. It can’t, it just doesn’t seem to go anywhere, no matter how much she tries to fill herself up with other emotions to drown it out. 

But it’s a relief, _god_ its a relief, to just exist with Ruth, to just be in the space where she doesn’t have to speak. Doesn’t have to consider carefully the implications of every word or gesture before she lets it out into the world. Doesn’t have to worry about whether she’s looking at Ruth for too long, or not enough, or everything, everything…

Ruth is leaning into her now, pressing her whole body against Debbie. Debbie’s hands are in her hair, holding Ruth close to her, not allowing her to stop kissing her, not allowing her to stop being millimetres away. Ruth lowers her mouth, and starts kissing at Debbie’s pulse point instead, flicking her tongue over it gently. Debbie knows that her heart is doing crazy things. 

Maybe she’s touch starved. Debbie’s been with people other than Mark and Ruth, but she can’t remember if it felt like this with anyone other than Ruth. It’s all too long ago, every memory has been drowned out by the cloying incompetence of Mark in bed, or the emotional whirlwind of Ruth, touching her, _god._

Ruth’s hands are at her sides, underneath Debbie’s top, and Debbie feels barely dressed already. Ruth’s fingertips drag slow across her skin, before gripping, and Debbie’s swearing out loud, feeling completely wanton. 

Debbie’s only wearing a skirt, and she doesn’t even notice spreading her legs, trying to get Ruth to press where she needs her most. Her bare legs are only rewarded with the material of Ruth’s jeans, because of course she’s wearing jeans, Debbie doesn’t know if she’s ever seen Ruth in a skirt.

Ruth is still kissing her, and it’s good, it’s good. When Ruth tongue touches her own, it’s entirely involuntary, the noise that she makes. And then she’s done being patient, and drops her hands to Ruth’s hips, pulling her forwards, so she can straddle one of Ruth’s legs. 

Better. Debbie presses against her, and enjoys the way Ruth swears against her own mouth. And then, _god_ , the pressure is there, and Debbie moves against Ruth, essentially just rubbing herself against the top of Ruth’s thigh. 

Fuck, fuck fuck. It’s too good, and Debbie’s moaning now, wrapping her arms around Ruth’s neck, not even kissing her anymore. Their mouths are right next to each other, but it is more like sharing a breath, rather than kissing.

One of Ruth’s hands disappears from Debbie’s side, and then she’s turned her face away. Debbie takes this as encouragement to move to Ruth’s neck, because the marks that Debbie left last time have disappeared, and god help her if Debbie doesn’t like the idea of Ruth being unmarked by her. 

But then there’s a gap between them, and Debbie is suddenly standing alone. The loss of Ruth’s body nearly makes her fall over, and she takes a half step forward, trying to find her balance. 

Ruth is by the door, and for one moment Debbie thinks that she is leaving. But Ruth just clicks it closed, and then tries the handle. It opens easily again. 

Ruth presses it closed, and looks back at her, a small frown creasing her forehead.

“It doesn’t lock.”

Debbie tries to kick her brain into understanding why that is important. Then she remembers - Bash’s house. Hell of a lot of other people, somewhere else in the house. Privacy not guaranteed.

But they can’t stop. The odds are… she can’t stop. They could have all of the privacy of the wrestling ring right now, and Debbie wouldn’t be able to stop. 

She takes off her top, dropping it on the floor. Ruth’s eyes widen, and Debbie realizes how freeing this is. She doesn’t have to suck her stomach in, because Ruth’s already seen her in skin tight clothes countless times. She doesn’t have to worry about the stretch marks, because she doesn’t care, and Ruth is looking at her as though Debbie has discovered the meaning of life.

“So?” she says, in response to Ruth’s statement. Ruth looks at her, before letting her eyes drop to Debbie’s breasts. Debbie’s pretty sure that her nipples must be visible through the bra’s material. Debbie wants to derail all of Ruth’s thoughts.

Ruth licks her lips once, and then manages to meet Debbie’s eyes again.

“So, is this a good idea?” But her lips are swollen from Debbie’s kisses, and her pupils are dilated. It’s an automatic question, not a real one.

Debbie laughs slightly, shrugging. It’s just such an obvious answer.

“No?”

Ruth looks at her for half a second longer, long enough for Debbie to consider walking towards her, but then she’s on Debbie again, one hand in Debbie’s hair and the other on her breasts. The kiss is everything, and fuck it, _fuck it._

No more pretending that she’s only half into this. Debbie wants her. She’s just concentrating on not falling too hard, too fast, too completely.

It’s different from last time. That time Debbie had been in charge, Debbie had been using sex to make a point, Debbie had chosen every instance of every moment. 

This time it’s Ruth who is dictating the pace of things. Debbie tries to be passive, she _wants_ to be passive. She’s trying. _Look, I don’t want it to be like last time. I’m trying. I want to give myself to you, for you get what you need._

Ruth backs Debbie to the bed, and Debbie sits, half dragging Ruth down with her because the notion of separation is entirely out of the question. Ruth moans to herself, and then straightens up, starting with the buttons on her top. Debbie reaches up to help, half biting her lip when a small giggle tries to escape her. 

“Jesus, where the fuck did you even find this thing?”

Ruth’s fingers are hasty, almost fumbling at the buttons in her impatience. She huffs out a distracted laugh.

“You cannot seriously be giving me fashion advice right now.”

Debbie laughs, a little helpless in the face of all her feelings. And then she feels even more helpless when she remembers that Ruth almost never wears a bra. And Ruth’s breasts are suddenly just there, so Debbie reaches up and puts her mouth on them. Ruth takes a half step forward, and almost falls on top of her. She moans incoherently, and Debbie loves that noise. She points her tongue and flicks, to see if she can make it happen again. 

Ruth swears, and then she is sliding Debbie’s bra straps down, and Debbie reaches around behind herself, undoing her bra strap helpfully. Ruth kneels down, to be on the same level as her, and now the skirt is a hindrance, because Debbie can’t spread her legs far enough to rub herself against Ruth’s midriff.

God, she needs Ruth to fuck her, it’s been too long, she needs Ruth’s mouth on her. Ruth’s palms both her tits, and then breaks the kiss, leaning back to ask her a question.

“Can I?”

Debbie doesn’t understand what is being asked for one, dense moment. But then Ruth glances down to her breasts, and licks her lips, and Debbie swears instead of answering. 

“Fuck, yes, god.”

Ruth’s mouth is on her then, and it’s just the gentlest trail of tongue and lips, but Debbie feels it everywhere. 

“Oh my god, _Ruth_.”

She’s sliding herself back on the bed now, pulling Ruth with her. And it’s too much, it’s too much, having Ruth on top of her. The zip on this skirt is fiddly, and Debbie just bypasses the entire problem, pulling the material higher up around her hips with a yank. Ruth moans, and there’s a hand sliding up Debbie’s thigh. 

Ruth moans even louder when she presses her fingers against Debbie’s panties, and Debbie knows that she is hopelessly, ridiculously wet. She grabs at Ruth’s hand, and presses her even closer, moving her hips to try and find the kind of pressure that she needs, seeing if she can fucking come from a two second touch from one finger tip.

It’s not enough for Ruth though, who changes position, and tries to pull Debbie’s panties down. It’s awkward, and Ruth just gives up half way down Debbie’s thighs, but then Ruth’s fingers are sliding into her. Debbie’s eyes open wide, and she feels…complete. It’s something she’s been waiting for, for god knows how long.

Ruth swears, and then swears again, and then starts pressing into Debbie with a movement that Debbie knows will have her reaching orgasm in the space of less than a minute. But even that feels too long, and Debbie’s sending her own hand down to help out, pressing at her clit with a breathless gasp. 

Ruth kisses her shoulder, and then murmurs “No, I want to. I want to put my mouth on you”, and Debbie’s completely gone, she could come just from hearing Ruth say that. Ruth rearranges herself, sliding downwards, and Debbie’s flexing her hips upwards to fresh air, so desperate she is for Ruth’s touch. Ruth kisses at her hip bones, and then puts her mouth on her inner thigh, sucking once. Debbie could hit her, why the delay?

And then the door opens. 

The door opens.

Debbie blinks once, and tries to react, pushing at Ruth’s shoulder. Ruth glances up, but it is too late, because in walks _fucking Florian_ of all people.

Debbie grabs at the sheet, somehow thinking that if she could just cover herself and Ruth, then Florian wouldn’t even notice they were there. 

Florian blinks once, makes a small, universal noise of ‘whooph’, and then backs out of the room, closing the door carefully.

Debbie’s heart is hammering in her throat. Ruth sits up, looking mortified, one hand on her mouth.

And then there’s Florian’s voice, calling through the door.

“Sorry, I was just getting the spare pool towels. Sorry. Carry on.”

Debbie could kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YOU PATIO TOWN.
> 
> Come find me at yotoob.tumblr.com. I have many feelings.
> 
> (holy shit SEASON TWO DON'T FUCK THIS UP WRITERS)


	21. Sideways Tilt

Florian. Florian just walked in on them. On Debbie and Ruth. While they were. While they were.

Ruth collapses sideways on the bed. She groans.

While they were, in the middle of…it. Ruth circles the word ‘fucking’ cautiously. It had felt like more. It had felt like more.

She’s struggling to think in more than brief sentences. Her body respectfully calls her attention to the fact that there is a bit of a situation going on in her panties. Ruth resolutely ignores this.

She could tell from Debbie’s face of horror as the door opened that there would be no question of continuing.

Debbie sits up, swearing.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ I’m so stupid, jesus fuck, _fuck_ , that little shit…”

Ruth rolls sideways, and is suddenly hyper aware that she’s half naked. Her breasts seem wildly inappropriate for the situation now, and she rolls further, so that she’s half off the bed, looking for her top. Where the hell…

“Can you see my top?”

Debbie glares at her. “Oh, that’s the most important thing right now?”

Ruth rolls her eyes, not cross but certainly frazzled.

“Well, yes, if this is a crisis situation then me having my tits out is not going to help, is it?”

After a moment, Debbie seems to accept the logic of this point, and gestures down the other side of the bed. “I threw it in that direction.”

Ruth manoeuvres herself to the other side of the bed, and there’s her top, the one that she quite likes and the one that Debbie hates apparently.

“I _like_ this top” she says absently to herself, and she pulls it back over herself, and concentrates on the buttons. Debbie snorts.

“Just- this isn’t a joking situation Ruth.”

Ruth rolls her eyes, and finds herself fighting off a giggle. She always does this. Debbie always has to have a solution to a problem instantly, whereas Ruth always wants to make light in the face of adrenaline.

She tries to settle herself, because this really isn’t the time. The arousal coursing through her body is going to have to be ignored. Ruth can hear Debbie moving about on the bed, muttering to herself. When she turns around, Debbie has managed to look half respectable again, and is just in the process of doing up her bra.

“Fucking…. we should have barricaded the door or something.”

Ruth looks around the room, noting the complete absence of anything to barricade the door with. She bites her lip. 

“Mmm- or put a note on the door.”

Debbie makes a face at her, about to declare that Ruth has lost her mind, but then seems to realize that Ruth is teasing her. She points at Ruth crossly, and then leans off the bed, reaching for her top.

“Don’t- stop pretending this isn’t a problem.”

Ruth shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t…my only other setting for situations like this is crying, and that’s not going to be helpful either. That’s your other option. Tits out, tears.”

Debbie pulls her top over her head, and there, now she looks just as she did before, asides from the smudged make up, crazy hair, and undeniable dilation of her pupils. Debbie checks herself in the mirror, and then swears again.

“Oh great. Looking… very presentable.” She runs her hands through her hair a few times, until it’s looking a fraction calmer. Then she sighs, and sits on the bed.

“What are we going to do?”

Ruth glances at herself once in the mirror. Luckily her hair always looks like that. But it’s weird. There’s a weird disconnect here. Five minutes ago Ruth was about to go down on Debbie. Now they’re talking disaster management. Ruth’s body is not on the same wave length as her brain.

She finds some rationality, enough to consider the possibilities of the world outside this room.

“I mean. I could go and ask Florian not to mention it to anyone?”

Debbie puts her head in her hands. 

“Oh, that’ll be cast iron. Phew.”

‘Well, I don’t see what else we can do.”

“Kill him?” Debbie states baldly. “We could kill him. Hide the body, you know.”

Ruth swallows a laugh, because Debbie’s not completely joking. And then she says, cautiously “why is it such a problem?”

Debbie looks at her as if _she’s_ the one that just suggested killing someone. 

“Can we just… not do this now? We’re fucked up enough without actually adding an audience to whatever-” Debbie waves a hand between the both of them frustratedly. “-whatever we are right now. And that’s not even including… fuck, can we not do this now?”

Ruth files all of this for examination at a later date, and then shrugs. 

“Okay, what do you want to happen now?”

Debbie looks skittish, and seems to scan the room for exits.

“I- god, to go back fifteen minutes and find a room with a lock.”

Ruth runs her hands through her hair, still half wondering if this is all a dream. At least Debbie hasn’t declared that she hates her. At least she hasn’t run from the room. At least she hasn’t gotten married.

“Well” she says, voice full of false cheer, “at least it wasn't Melrose.”

“Oh, there's the upside” Debbie says shortly, and scowls at her. But at least. Not long ago Debbie was moaning underneath her touch, and it has to count for something, it _has_ to. 

“Are you angry with me?” and it’s out before Ruth can really do anything about it. Last time Debbie wanted to remind her how angry she was just before Ruth came. It’s only natural to want to check the status of things now.

Debbie looks at her, and for a moment Ruth is back in the changing rooms, and Debbie doesn’t understand why Ruth is insisting on changing under her shirt.

“God, can we not do couples’ counselling right now?”

It'll only because couples’ counselling has been playing on Debbie’s mind, no doubt because of Mark, and his omnipresent therapist. But it's still a shock, the idea of Ruth and Debbie being a couple. It sounds like something from an alternate universe. Ruth can see a wave of vague horror pass over Debbie's face as she realizes what she's said. 

Move on, move on. Some things are too complicated for right now. Ruth nods abruptly, drawing a line.

“You’re right. We need to …. I should go and speak to Florian.”

Debbie stands, looking ready to murder. “I’ll speak to him” she growls.

Okay, that’s…Ruth brain supplies an unwelcome wave of arousal. Turns out angry Debbie is a turn on. Ruth can’t imagine how close she must have been to a subliminal orgasm all these months.

She bites her lip. “Um, maybe, I mean, I think a softly softly approach might work best here. You can’t just throw him.”

Debbie crosses her arm, but sighs in concession. “If people find out- yeah, okay, you go speak to Florian. Try to, I don’t know, scare the living shit out of him, in a softly softly way. And I’ll-”

“You should just go” Ruth supplies helpfully. “Just… I have no chance of being anything close to normal, but then I think they’re probably used to that from me. But if we’re both, I don’t know - freaking out, then-”

“Go?” Debbie seems curious about the idea, as though it would have never occurred to her. Ruth nods.

“Yeah, I mean, you can claim a Randy crisis, walk to the end of the street and hail a cab - you don’t even need to say bye to anyone.”

There’s a smile flickering around Debbie’s lips now, and it doesn’t seem to match the content of the conversation, but maybe the subtext.

“And how will I know there’s a Randy crisis? My mom doesn’t know I’m here.”

Ruth shrugs. “Well, no one is going to ask, are they? And, I don’t know…” she shrugs, and finishes off lamely with “…womanly intuition?”

Debbie laughs, and then covers her mouth with her hand, looking cross.

“I thought I said no jokes.”

Ruth makes a face. “That wasn’t, that was just- that was just me.”

There’s something in Debbie’s stare that makes Ruth… she looks down, rubbing at her arms, trying to eradicate the gooseflesh. Debbie sighs after a moment, and clears her throat.

“I didn’t say… I mean, it’s good. About the show.”

It takes a second for Ruth to remember what Debbie is talking about, but, oh. _Oh_. Ruth is now officially employed. She can officially relax for a couple of months more at least. 

Doing this for a couple of months more with Debbie sounds… well. Ruth doesn’t know where they’ll end up, but for once she’s feeling a little recklessly hopeful. 

She doesn’t say this, of course.

“We looked like goddamn superheroes.”

Debbie’s standing close to her. Close enough to kiss her. For one mad moment, Ruth wonders if that is actually going to happen, but somehow she knows that although they occasionally seem to be in the right place for eruptions of passion, simple affection is entirely out of the question.

Ruth’s heart nearly turns inside out, when Debbie reaches a hand up to her, and brushes her thumb briefly across her cheek bone. Then Debbie frowns, and clears her throat.

“Okay, well. I’ll go. Can you… you’ll call me, after you’ve spoken to Flor? Tonight?”

Ruth smiles.

…….

It’s weird, that the party doesn’t seem to have moved on at all. Half of the girls are still in the lounge room, where she and Debbie left them. Jenny is singing the same riff of the same song. Carmen looks like she’s on the same drink.

Ruth is confident, she’s like, ninety eight percent confident, that Florian won’t have immediately run into around the house and told everyone that he just encountered Ruth about to go down on Debbie. But it still takes a summons of courage, to step out from the doorway and accept the attention.

Stacey comes waltzing over to her, arms outstretched.

“Ruth! Where were you? Did you hear? We’re doing a season!”

Ruth produces a crazy grin from somewhere, and accepts Stacey’s hug, letting her ruffle her hair affectionately. “I know, it’s… wow. So good. Say, have you seen Florian?”

Stacey doesn’t seem to hear her, and just nudges her with her drink.

“And where is Debbie? I haven’t seen her either.”

“Oh, she had a… there was a thing with Randy, and um, I was just helping her sort out a cab, god you would not believe the traffic-”

Stacey takes another drink and looks away from her, not listening at all, which is a good thing because Ruth was on the verge of mailing back every acting certificate she’d ever collected.

“Listen, Sam was looking for you.”

Ruth shrugs, because Sam can wait. Florian. She needs to find Florian.

……

This really is a very stylish house. Although Ruth thinks that whoever designed the floorpan must have been high, because the layout is extremely confusing. She keep encounters a sauna, a tanning booth, and what seems to be a VHS library before she finds the kitchen.

Of course, she keeps bumping into the girls, who are running around Bash’s house like party ants. They give her high fives and hugs as they run past. Ruth’s emotions, after long minutes of snow globe swirling, settle into a kind of panicked positivity. If she just never finds Florian, she can spend this time imagining that everything is going to work out for the best.

Debbie’s face when she said “Or we could kill him” rises unbidden to mind, and Ruth giggles, before covering her hand with her mouth. Now is not a time for jokes.

It’s hard not to feel really happy, god help her. Debbie had held her hand. Granted, there was a hell of a lot of stuff after, but the hand holding seems to stick in her mind. 

Florian is in the kitchen. Ruth strolls in, anxious to not think to hard about this conversation.

“Hi!”

Florian glances over his shoulder, and then drops his bag of ice into the sink, turning to face her. His expression does some gymnastics, before settling on a kind of dazzling grimace.

“Can I just say, that I am really sorry for interrupting-”

Ruth is having to work really hard now to fight off the laugh. The fact that Florian is covered in lipstick kisses isn’t helping.

“Okay, doesn’t matter. Sorry for taking advantage of your hospitality.”

Florian gestures vaguely above his head.

“There are better rooms upstairs. You know. With locks. More equipped. For future reference.”

Ruth swallows, and then says carefully “I’ll pass it on to Debbie.”

Florian’s eyes widen. “She’s not- I mean, can you pass on my apologies as well?” He’s scared of Debbie, Ruth realizes. She’d forgotten that Debbie probably intimidates everyone, so preoccupied has Ruth been on all the ways Debbie’s anger has been focused on her.

She bites her lip.

“Yeah, Flor, listen. We… this can’t become public knowledge, you understand?”

Florian nods widely, and then tries a grin.

“What can’t?”

Ruth nearly explains, before spotting that Florian is playing along. She smiles tightly.

“Yeah, good, just like that. But, you know, it really can’t. Or Debbie will…”

Florian is nodding hastily, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “No no no, I understand. Nothing from me, I swear.”

Ruth tries to settle herself. It’s fine. Debbie’s over reacting. Florian seems very trustworthy for a man wearing shorts covered in a lightning bolt symbol. He smiles hopefully at her. 

“Look, if it helps, I’m like, rooting for you. Wrestler enemies with benefits? Amazing. Really, totally, post modern. Radical.”

Wrestler enemies with benefits? Ruth makes a mental note to share that one with Debbie, the next time she seems to be in a receptive mood. She gives Florian a thumbs up, and starts backing away.

“Great! That’s great. Okay. Sorry again, and I’ll just, you know, circulate, people to see-”

She stops. A sudden, horrible thought strikes her. She points at Florian, who flinches slightly.

“What did you mean, ‘nothing from _you_ ’?”

Florian makes a face, as if he’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. “Oh. Oh, um.”

Ruth has a premonition.

“Someone else was outside the door, weren’t they?”

Florian rubs a hand over the back of his neck, waving the other around pointlessly.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Your producer guy, with the moustache. He was… he was in that corridor when I got there. But, I don’t know, he might not have heard anything, although you were… uh…”

Ruth puts her hand on the wall, to try and combat the sideways tilt of the universe. 

Sam heard them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patio town owes me money.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> Betty owns my soul.


	22. Vested Interest

No-one knows where Sam went.

Ruth, after an hour of looking around empty rooms and doing three laps of the property’s grounds, concludes that he isn't there, he must have left. Sure, he didn’t say anything to anyone, but he definitely isn’t here, so he definitely must have left.

Ruth has mixed feelings about this, because although she was looking for him, she didn’t actually want to find him. Her slightly hysterical good mood has vanished now, replaced by something akin to panic. 

Sam has an undeniable habit of pouring cold water over all of Ruth’s half formed dreams. And, although she _thinks_ he’s on her side, she really doesn't want to hear a healthy dose of reality. And she _really_ doesn’t want Debbie to hear a healthy dose of reality. They’re balanced on a tightrope right now, and all the reasons to fall are tugging at them, as inevitable as gravity.

Ruth finds Bash, wearing a fur coat that she thinks Tammé claimed the last time she was here. He looks a little like dazed, but sober enough.

“Can I call a cab? I need to go.”

“Ruth!” Bash grabs her by her shoulders, a stares meaningfully into her eyes.

“My mother” he whispers hoarsely. “She just called. She watched the show. And- she didn’t hate it!”

Ruth smiles gently at him, and his eyes abruptly fill with tears. _We’re all dealing with our own shit_. She remembers the phrase from Debbie, from a moment that feels like yesterday. She reaches up, and pats his face gently.

“That’s great Bash. You were incredible. But- can I call a cab?”

…….

And then she’s alone again.

The cab driver pays zero attention to her, thankfully. Ruth reels off the motel address, and then stares out the window. The palm trees slide by, exclamations marks in the concrete jungle. 

Ruth thinks about travelling. There are places in the world that are greener than this. She remembers one family trip, three days bored out of her mind in the car. But the landscape she had stepped into made it all worth it. In L.A. nature struggled. In other places, it rioted. 

Europe would be nice, she thinks, with a bite to her lip. She could go live out some of those lies, some day. Building after building whips past her, uninspired and predictable.

What would Sam do? Probably nothing. But it’s the probably that’s going to gnaw at her. Ruth is certain that all Debbie needs is one naysayer and suddenly there’s reality, smashing into them both like the ground. ‘Wrestler enemies with benefits’. Who’s ever heard of something so stupid?

The cab jolts over an uneven surface, and Ruth tries not to think about anything at all.

And then she remembers, as though plunging into cold water, that Sam knows about the abortion as well.

“Could you, um- excuse me, could you pull over here? I’ll walk the rest.”

……

It’s at least an hour’s walk, that Ruth has elected to do. But Ruth doesn’t want to arrive at the motel, she doesn’t know what she is supposed to _do_ when she gets back to the motel. Go see Debbie? Let her know that Florian seems pretty relaxed about the whole thing, however Sam is out there somewhere and almost definitely heard the exact fucked up nature of their relationship. 

Ruth tries to breathe deeply. Sam, for all his recent moves toward being someone that Ruth considers an ally, suddenly has knowledge of a great deal of her secrets. And sure, he has a vested interest in not completely trashing her life, but that’s not really enough to settle Ruth’s heart rate. Her secrets aren’t public knowledge because Sam Syliva needs his wrestling show to work.

She can’t predict how Debbie is going to react. It’s a horrible blank space in her mind, because Ruth thinks there was a time when she could read Debbie’s responses. She could tell when Debbie would snap, or when she was joking, or when she would cry. Now, Debbie’s suddenly a wild card, and Ruth is accommodating, accommodating, trying to have every response available to fit in with whatever Debbie is going to do. Don’t look at me and pretend that we barely know each other? Sure. Push me up against the wall and kiss me? Sure.

It’s not healthy. Ruth knows this, but she can’t stop. It’s such a mess.

Her heart is aching.

And they’re are so far away from even thinking about this sensibly, but… being in a same sex- thing? That’s _not_ easy. That’s hard. That’s, harder than Ruth and Debbie can do. They can barely have two civil conversations in a row, they keep interrupting themselves to argue or make out.

She should go speak to Sam, Ruth decides. She needs to find him, talk to him, absorb some of his initial inevitable _what the fucking_ , and then somehow corral him into not tearing everything down that Ruth has been trying to build with Debbie. Build from fragments.

But, it’s a nice day. Sam might not be at the motel. Ruth doesn’t have to run.

……

She’s foot sore by the time she reaches the motel, because although Ruth has never been fitter, her work out routine hasn’t done anything to cover walking for an hour in flats.

Debbie’s car isn’t there. Ruth heaves a sigh of relief, because now she doesn’t have to choose whether to ignore Debbie or avoid her for the moment. Debbie isn’t here. She legitimately can’t go and speak to her yet.

Ruth showers. She remembers that somehow, they have to do another fifteen shows. It feels unreal, because the pilot encompassed so much change in Ruth’s life. She thinks she might be eighty four by the time they wrap the last show.

The shower helps her to feel slightly more normal, and when she steps out into the afternoon sunshine, Ruth gazes around the parking lot with less trepidation. The limo isn’t here, and neither is Debbie’s car. And neither is Sam’s. Ruth imagines that he might have gone into the desert to swear loudly at the sky and kick sand around, or is possibly doing crack off a stripper’s belly button. Both seem equally plausible.

Ruth relaxes, and then tries to consider what to do. Go and train? The idea is incomprehensible.

She settles on the impulse to go and see Gregory, and maybe apologize for their collective freak out this morning. Ruth thinks that she could use a healthy dose of Gregory’s complete disinterest in her. Nothing to see here folks.

Ruth is half way across the parking lot when Mark’s Beemer pulls through the entrance gates. 

And he’s seen her, because she’s really obvious. Ruth makes herself stand still, advice about facing down the enemy skittering through her mind.

Mark looks malevolent, although a great deal more in control than the last time Ruth saw him. He pulls up next to her.

“Is she here?”

Ruth thinks about playing dumb, asking who he means, but it is way too obvious a question for that. She shakes her head, grateful that the first thing she says doesn’t have to be a lie. 

“No. I don’t know where she is. And, I am not having a conversation with you.” Ruth steps away from the car, and continues towards the reception. Her heart is hammering in her mouth, and all she can think of is that she mustn’t show him which room is hers, and definitely not show him which one is Debbie’s.

Mark slams his open palm against the top of the steering wheel, and then points at her. His voice cracks slightly under some unknown strain. “ _Do not_ walk off, or I will get out of the car and follow you.”

Ruth hates him, she realizes. The hate is there, ready to unleash itself. The emotion feels years old, and Ruth must have hated him even when she slept with him, must have hated him even as she’d congratulated him on the birth of Randy. She spins on her heel, and suddenly her arms are out wide, inviting Mark’s gaze.

“What the fuck do you want from me? Debbie doesn’t want to speak to you, I do not want to speak to you, just, go away.”

Mark snorts at her, and rubs his hand over his face. “Oh sure, well, disappearing for two weeks and ignoring all of life’s problems is a charming fucking tactic if you are twelve, but Debbie needs to live in the _real world_ like the rest of the adults. She needs to answer my calls, or speak to me on the phone for more than two minutes, rather than just yell at me that she never wants to see me again and file for divorce.”

The arrogance of the man. Ruth restrains herself from just flipping him off. “I’m pretty sure that you’ve bought this one on yourself Mark. So, it seems a bit strange to be on the offensive like this.”

Mark glares at her. “Yeah, although its funny how you don’t seem to be taking any of Debbie’s shit. You are back in the fold. Debbie’s own personal cheer squad.”

Ruth rolls her eyes, and the concept of Ruth not taking any of Debbie’s shit is laughable. “Oh, I’ve taken Debbie’s anger. I think Mark, maybe the difference is, I hadn’t been emotionally abusing her for years prior to this. I’ve consistently wanted what’s best for her. I’ve supported her, while you just sit on a therapist couch and call her passion ‘silly’.”

Mark scoffs at her, and then looks around the parking lot, exasperated. “Oh god” he says to himself “the sisterhood. Save me. I’m not sure your priorities have always been that pure, Ruth. Are you forgetting that I cheated on her with _you?_ ”

They glare at each other. After a moment, Mark stuffs his hand in his jacket pocket. 

“Debbie’s told me of her intention to divorce. This is my intention to go for full custody of Randy.”

Ruth gapes at him.

“What? You can’t do that… you cheated on her. You can’t expect to get Randy?” She almost wonders if Mark is making a joke. He smiles at her, slowly.

“See, one of the advantages of living in the _real fucking world_ is that I actually know lawyers. I work with them. Some of them are my buddies. And it turns out that there’s a morality consideration, when it comes to custody. What is best for Randy. Who provides the most stable upbringing. I have a good job, and I work nine to five. I own a house. Debbie’s an out of work actress slash wrestler slash god knows what living in a motel. And she’s hanging out with crack addicts and the _woman who her husband slept with_. I’m pretty sure I could get her _committed_ if I really worked at it, so don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Ruth says nothing. Mark flourishes the document impatiently at her, until Ruth takes it from him, speechless.

“You give that to her. And you tell her to call me. Or I will document her unwillingness to engage with me, and it all adds up. Believe me.”

Sam’s car appears at this point, and he pulls up next to Mark’s car, rolling the window down with an effort. He looks at her, and then at Mark.

“Are we playing nice?”

Mark barely glances at him, and then points once more at Ruth.

“She’s got twenty four hours to call me. Or I’ll start remembering other things about you and Debbie that I could cite in a morality consideration.”

Ruth doesn’t like the sound of that last sentence at all. Sam laughs shortly at him.

“Ooh, very dramatic. Twenty four hours. I’ll set the fucking stop watch. Now you just, drive on, buddy.”

Mark looks for a moment as though he is considering getting out of the car and trying to confront Sam, but he engages a gear and pulls away slowly. 

Ruth turns away from Sam, and starts walking back to the rooms. She could slide this letter under Debbie’s door. But then… Ruth doesn’t like the idea of Debbie reading it by herself. She’ll put it in her room, and leave a note under Debbie’s door telling her to call the moment Debbie gets back to the hotel. And then… god knows. 

But she does need to find out if there is even the slightest possibility if Mark might think there is more than just friendship between Ruth and Debbie. Wrestler enemies with benefits.

“Hey- Ruth!”

Ruth glances back at him once.

“Not now Sam. I mean, really not now.”

Ruth can hear Sam cutting his engine, and the half running to catch her up. She looks at the envelope in her hands, and wonders at the power of the printed word to destroy a life.

Sam is at her elbow. “Wow, you and Debbie both have incredibly bad taste in men. It’s a wonder neither of you have tried to sleep with me.”

Ruth sighs, and stops walking.

“Just… I know you will have lots to say and fun new things to talk about-”

Sam’s eyebrows rise, and he nods his head, looking the personification of that slightly hysterical mood Ruth was sporting earlier. “Oh yeah. The holiday season has come early, Father Crisis is here.” Ruth offers him a weak grimace.

“Yeah, but… I need to go stare at a wall for a bit. So, if you could just, leave it for a moment-”

Sam shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Sure, I mean, it’ll be more fun if Debbie is here too. We should sell tickets. A tag team match. You and Debbie, vs me and Reality. You can both take it in turns to yell at me, while I try to calmly explain why maybe fucking your wrestling partner who, last time I checked, was your ex-friend and worst enemy, might not be the best thing for the show. You know. In the grand scheme of things. Just a thought.”

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> patios are entirely overrated.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - come stage an intervention


	23. More Than Friends

Debbie’s fine. It’s fine. 

She struggles to get her keys into the lock at the motel for a long time, because they won’t fucking fit, because God hates her. 

It’s fine. She keeps breathing in and out, matching the mental phrase of _it’s fine_ to every outward breath. 

Completely fine. Florian is some pretty nobody who Ruth will charm into shutting the fuck up. And if that doesn’t look like it is going to work, then Debbie will lower her dignity by one more notch, and tell Bash that he needs to make his boyfriend swear to never speak to anyone about it _ever_ . Otherwise she’ll leave the show and then he can try and find another ex soap star to willingly throw herself on the floor wearing nothing but a sparkly bathing suit.

It’s fine. 

She manages to get through the door eventually, all the while looking over her shoulder, because feels inevitable that someone or _something_ will come to interrupt her. Either Cherry to spout wisdom, or Mark to somehow tear her down, or some manifestation of every lie she’s told herself and others.

Crazy, that Ruth used to be the person that Debbie was most determined to present a false front to. Now, Ruth feels like safe territory, which is ridiculous, ridiculous. But everyone else still has the capacity to be shocked by Debbie’s feelings towards Ruth. But as for Ruth herself… well. That ship has probably sailed.

It’s fine.

Besides, in addition- Ruth seems to have similar feelings towards Debbie. It’s probably as close to a happy ending that Debbie could hope for. The fact that the whole world feels like it is on fire is maybe just the version of happiness that Debbie has to accept.

Debbie realizes that she’s staring at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t look any different. No signs of the apocalypse here. It’s fine.

She wants Ruth here. More than anything, she just wants to talk to her, just _fucking_ drop the charade of anger that Debbie has been laboring to carry around, and just speak to her in the way that they used to. Before Debbie clogged them both up with an ill considered kiss and then an ill considered marriage. 

If she could just talk to Ruth, maybe they could figure out some kind of plan to get through this quagmire. And obviously, the simplest solution would be to stop making out, but Debbie really doesn’t trust herself on that front. 

Ruth slept with Mark. The anger is still there, but it’s muted now. Bigger problems to deal with, her brain seems to be suggesting. Besides, it’s not like the real loss ever happened. It’s not like Ruth and Mark had ended up together, ripping Debbie out of Ruth’s life like a band aid.

The thought of Mark sends a tremor of panic through Debbie. And then the thought of Mark some how finding out about Debbie and Ruth sleeping together… _fuck_. Debbie isn’t sure exactly how Mark would use it against her, but there would be some retribution. Some method of punishing her. Because Mark gets his kicks out of belittling her, Debbie realizes that now. She is most appealing to him when she is small and struggling.

Anyway. Completely fine.

Debbie changes her clothes. And then, seeking out some version of normality, she goes to collect her son.

…… 

“And I loved it, honestly, it was _incredible_ sweetie. So exciting! Seeing you on the tv again, and a starring role! And that nice man in the tux - what was his name, again?”

Debbie rolls her eyes, jiggling Randy on her knee.

“He’s called Bash, Mom.”

“Is he married?” Debbie looks blankly at her mom, who shrugs after a moment. “What? He seems lovely, and you’ve got to act fast or all the best ones will be snapped up.” 

“I’m… oh my god I’m not going to marry Bash, he’s only a boy, what is wrong with you? I’m not even divorced yet.”

“Bash…” Laureen ponders this for the second time in ten minutes, blithely ignoring Debbie’s refusal of Bash’s hand in marriage. “That _is_ a very strange name-”

“Yes Mom, you already said.”

Laureen looks around at Ron, who is behind a newspaper, barricaded in. “Ron, don’t you think Bash is a strange name?”

“Yup.”

“Mom, you’ve already asked him that. It’s short for Sebastian. It’s really not- I mean, plenty of other people are called Sebastian, it really isn’t worth…”

Laureen eyes her like she’s Jessica Fletcher, and then asks “But why not Seb?” 

Debbie swears that part of her soul is leaving her body. “Because he’s called Bash, I don’t know what further information you want from me?”

Randy gurgles in her arms, and Debbie reaches across him, finding his bottle from the side table. Her mom sighs at her, as Debbie offers the bottle to Randy.

“Why have you switched him to bottle Debbie? He’s so small still…”

Debbie clenches her jaw, and breaths out through her nose.

“Because this is a perfectly normal age for babies to switch to the bottle. If I’m working I can’t be available as some kind of walking udder. And also Randy is part limpet or something and my tits can’t actually cope with any more-”

Ron clears his throat loudly, and folds up his paper with a forceful display of outraged origami. He mutters something about getting a beer, and leaves.

Her mom leans forward, and pats her on the knee.

“Please don’t talk about your…. breast feeding difficulties in front of Ron.”

Sighing, Debbie says, “Why, had he not noticed my boobs until now? Did he think I was feeding Randy by pipet?”

“Oh, you know men; they can’t cope with women’s talk.”

Randy looks up at her contentedly while he drinks. He puts his fists on both sides of the bottle, making small efforts to try and hold it himself. Debbie smiles at him, and tries to remember how much child care her mom has done for her recently. 

“Okay, fine. We can talk about something else. But not Mark.”

Her mom veers automatically about the one area of her life that Debbie can bear to talk about.

“Well. I really did love the show. And the way you came out of the crowd- I honestly screamed a little bit. Although I thought it was outrageous the way that black lady with all the food stamps stole your crown - did you contest it with the umpire afterwards? Just shocking, very lax approach to sportsmanship.”

Debbie smiles at her mom, trying to help her understand.

“No, you see, that’s in the story. It’s like a soap opera. You need to… the heels make the faces look good. There’s got to be a struggle.”

Tutting, her mom inspects her nails. “Well, I don’t know about that. But I will be writing in to complain on your behalf. Just after you’d had to fight off that Russian girl as well, how the border control let _her_ in I do not understand…”

Debbie gazes at her mom for a long time, to try and figure out if she is joking.

“No, mom… that’s Ruth. She’s acting. It’s an act.”

Her mom waggles her fingers at her dismissively.

“No, sweetie, the _Russian_ one. The one you wrestled. My goodness, the idea of her being on the streets right now, spouting that Communist garbage to whoever she meets - I normally do not condone violence, but I must say that I am glad you gave her a good spanking, truly I am.”

“Yeah, mom, that’s still Ruth. She was Zoya. We’re… partners. Face and heel.”

Slowly, her mom covers her mouth with her hand.

“No… Debbie are you serious? That’s Ruth?”

Debbie nods, fighting off a smile because she is visualizing telling Ruth that her mother failed to spot her on the show. Her mom blinks a number of times, and then leans forward, taking a glance toward the kitchen door and lowering her voice.

“Debbie- is it possible that, when Ruth was in Europe, did she… have they converted her? Is she a sleeper agent? Because you hear about it, young naïve girl, doesn’t know any better, enticed by the glamor, the danger of it all…”

Debbie decides that she’s probably had enough normal by now. She sets down Randy’s bottle, and lifts him up carefully as she stands. 

“I don’t know Mom, I’ll ask her. And, wow, I really have to get going- there’s a script meeting in about an hour.”

……

It’s dark when she gets back. The day seems determined to bring itself to a close before Debbie can do anything else self defeating. 

There’s a note under her door, but Debbie has her arms full of a) baby paraphernalia and b) a baby, so she just kicks in further into the room and sets about getting Randy settled for the night.

He cries, for about half an hour, whilst Debbie tries to figure out what he needs. It turns out to be a combination of a diaper change, another feed, and ten minutes of being sung to whilst carried back and forth across the room. Debbie has a crappy singing voice, but Randy doesn’t mind, and falls asleep to her own garbled version of the last song she heard on the radio.

Debbie hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast time, but she doesn’t seem to need anything. She doesn’t know what her body is running on - maybe the break in training means that her body hasn’t noticed the lack of carbs. She gently places Randy in his cot, and considers what she should do now. Ruth must be back here at the motel, and Debbie really needs some information about what Florian said to her before she can figure out her emotions. Before she can sleep.

She should call Ruth, speak to her on the phone, find out whether she needs to take out a contract on Florian’s life, etc. It seems simple, but her palms ache with a nervous energy. Debbie doesn’t know how to do the conversation, she doesn’t know how to speak to Ruth. And now she’s over thinking everything, likes she’s in high school and she’s trying to envision how to introduce herself on the first day.

She can’t stop thinking about how- 

Debbie tries not to revert back to her initial fear, the one about a power balance, and how Ruth ripped all of the power from Debbie the moment she slept with Mark. She doesn’t _need_ to be more powerful than Ruth. It doesn’t matter if she is vulnerable in front of Ruth, because she can (almost, _almost_ ) trust that Ruth won’t use Debbie’s vulnerability in a way to hurt her. 

But now, of course, she’s thinking about Ruth and Mark again, and her stomach is turning. The jealously comes again, rearing its head and swelling in her heart, but at least Debbie now knows why she was so jealous. Because Ruth was _hers_ and Mark wasn’t allowed to have her.

Thankfully, before she can disappear too completely down a mental black hole, Debbie spies a corner of the note that she hastily kicked inside when she entered. It had ended up underneath the bed, and Debbie had managed to forget about it until now.

She reaches for it, wincing as some unknown old bruise from the wrestling ring makes itself known.

It’s Ruth’s handwriting.

_Debbie, Mark came by looking for you. He gave me some documents that I don’t think I should just leave under the door._

_P.S. Florian fine._

Debbie’s heart simultaneously drops to her shoes, and constricts to half it’s size.

Mark came looking for her? Mark spoke to Ruth?

Debbie picks up the phone.

……

The document that Ruth has delivered is trembling in her hands. Debbie can’t actually read it, part incomprehension part actual vibration. The lights in her motel room emit a soft, almost orange glow, and that isn’t helping either.

Words leap out of her, like ‘formal notice’, and ‘court review’ and ‘mitigating circumstances’, but the entire thing is so couched in lawyerly speak that Debbie doesn’t think she would have any idea what message was being communicated unless Ruth was here, ready to pass on Mark’s verbal threat.

“He can’t… can he actually do this? I thought he was just bullshitting? He mentioned something like this, but I thought… it was just his usual bullshit.”

Ruth’s sitting on Debbie’s bed, looking up at her. Her hands are gripping the bed clothes as though she might be flung off at any moment. 

“I don’t know. He seemed pretty sure of himself. Made it sound- oh you know how he can manipulate a situation. He made it sound like your position meant that you couldn’t be a good mom.”

Debbie clenches the papers in her hands, and nearly rips the whole thing up, but instead throws it on the floor in disgust. She wants to scream, _needs_ to scream, but Randy is just there, asleep in his cot. The effort of having to whisper is nearly giving her a hernia, but she manages.

“He doesn’t… Christ, he can’t seriously think that he’s the better parent? He tried to give Randy celery, for fuck’s sake.”

Ruth looks away, looking towards Randy’s cot. Debbie returns to pacing back and forth across her room, eight paces one way and eight paces the other. “This is just another fucking power trip, for him. It’s just his way of threatening me. Trying to make me go back on the divorce. They’d never actually- they wouldn’t actually give Randy to Mark? The bastard is…not equipped.”

Ruth nods, and says “Sure, that’s obvious. It’s obvious who the best parent is.” But it’s not enough, Debbie thinks. Ruth would say that anyway. It’s not enough for Debbie to relax one iota.

Debbie swears again, quietly and ineffectually. Ruth clears her throat.

“Listen, if you want to go and… I don’t know, talk to Cherry? Or, god, scream in your car; that would be justifiable…. but I mean, I could watch Randy if you want?”

Debbie shakes her head. “No. Thank you, but, I don’t want to be with Cherry.” What she wants, she realizes, is to stay with Ruth.

She’s going to cry. This is unfortunate, but at least there are justifiable reasons. She wipes her eyes, and sits next to Ruth. It’s not something Debbie would have done _before_ , but there’s so much going on that she can’t muster the energy to maintain the charade of being angry with Ruth.

Ruth is holding back. Debbie notices that there is something else, something that Ruth hasn’t said yet. She turns to look at her, and yep, there’s something else.

“What is it?”

Ruth sighs, and then says “It can wait.”

Okay, so now it can’t.

“What?”

Ruth looks really uncomfortable, and then says “This is just something that Mark said, and he was probably just, you know. Looking for a weakness.”

Debbie panics, as a kind of default setting. “What?”

Ruth gives a little half shrug, and then speaks quickly, trying to get it over with.

“He said something- I don’t know- he seemed to imply that he thought there was something between us… like, you know. That we were…more than friends? He suggest that he could, god, add that into his custody claim. Some kind of- morality angle.”

Debbie puts her head in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decking. Try decking.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> (you can all thank the buffer for this one!)


	24. Rearranged to Accommodate

Ruth can feel her heart jumping in her chest. It rattles, loud and insistent and a constant reminder - _you are alive! This is real! This is your actual life!_

It’s one of those moments in which she can see the turning point approaching; the bend in the road that they’ve both been hurtling towards at top speed. And neither of them know what is around the bend, and god knows if the brakes will even work.

Debbie sighs next to her, and then, in a completely shock move, tips sideways towards Ruth. Ruth grasps the implication, even if she can’t quite believe it. She puts her arm around Debbie’s shoulders.

Debbie relaxes into her, and it is so intimate, Ruth can feel herself well up. It’s a shock to recall that earlier today they were naked together in Bash’s spare bed. This is something else. 

The idea seems to strike Debbie as well, because she produces as low little half laugh. The amusement sounds as though it has been dragged up from her shoes.

“I need to figure out a way to go through fewer emotions in one day; I’m going to get whiplash.”

Ruth smiles at that despite herself, and, greatly daring, presses a kiss to the top of Debbie’s head. Debbie doesn’t react for a moment, and then tries to get even closer to Ruth, wrapping her arms around Ruth’s waist and resting her head on Ruth’s shoulder. She’s seeking out affection, Ruth realises with a shock. Debbie wants to be comforted, and is allowing Ruth to provide it.

Debbie mumbles _oh jesus_ to herself, and then says, in a slightly clearer voice, “I forgot then, for a moment, that you slept with Mark.” There’s no bite to it, however, and Ruth can tell that this conversation is one that isn’t going to make Debbie set herself on fire.

Ruth breaths in, and then squeezes Debbie’s shoulders. “I try to forget, too. It wasn’t… it isn’t a memory that I enjoy.”

Debbie doesn’t say anything in reply to that, just huffs a little bit at nothing. Ruth is quiet, waiting.

“I won’t let him take Randy.” It’s a statement of fact, from Debbie. She’d have said ‘the sky is blue’ in the same tone of voice. 

Ruth nods, because she knows it is true. Everything else has to be rearranged to accommodate that guiding motive. Debbie is warm in her arms, and although Ruth can’t see her face, she knows that Debbie is building up to something.

Eventually Debbie says “I can’t believe that I’m telling you this, but…”

There’s another long pause. Debbie groans, and covers her face with her hand. “And I hate that I’m telling you this. But. Mark has always thought I was… that we had… he was always suspicious about…how I was. About you.”

Ruth thinks back through her life, through the last few years. And if anyone had been living with Ruth, observing how she panicked and over thought every single interaction she had with Debbie, then they would have probably drawn some pretty certain conclusions about her feelings towards Debbie. But the idea of Debbie going through the same thing is simultaneously mind-blowing, and a complete sucker punch to the stomach. 

Debbie heaves another sigh, and now Ruth wonders if Debbie is curled into her like this because that way Ruth can’t see her face.

“And I… I once accidentally- I said your name. In bed. When _it_ was happening, although, ha, it really wasn’t happening for me, and so I went somewhere else in my head, and- yeah. I said your name. Mark didn’t let that go for a long time; I mean, he clearly hasn’t let it go.”

Ruth goes very still, because now her whole brain is dedicated to rewriting the past, all the way back to lying on her couch, letting Debbie walk out the door, all those years ago. And if maybe she’d just said something…

She bites her lip.

“You… you were feeling all that too? Because, _god_ , it feels like you haven’t left my head since I met you, and-”

Debbie turns in her arms, and then she’s kissing Ruth, just kissing her. It’s so much, Ruth’s heart feels heavy, full of the entire universe. Debbie presses her lips to Ruth’s again and again, rearranging herself to cup Ruth’s face with her hands, and trace her jaw line with her fingertips only. 

They come and go in waves, Ruth finds herself thinking. She’s the shoreline, and Debbie is the sea, pulling back and crashing forward and gentle and angry but always there, always perfectly aligned with her. 

Debbie leans on her, until they’re both falling back on the bed. Ruth has Debbie in her arms, and she wonders how long she can hold on to Debbie this time, if this’ll be the time when she’s allowed forever. They find comfort in the horizontal, and Debbie rolls on to her side, and kisses her again, as though they’re teenagers and the worst thing could happen is that someone’s mom could walk in. 

Randy makes a small noise in his sleep, and Debbie breaks away, and half sits up, to check on him. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she looks back at Ruth, half propped up on her elbow.

Ruth doesn’t think she’s seen anyone more beautiful in her life. She doesn’t think she’s had a moment in her life more beautiful than this. All the flotsam of life tries to wash up on her (Sam and his views, Mark and his relentless relentlessness, the sheer everything of this mess) but it’s irrelevant, nothing compared to Debbie, smiling down at her. 

She reaches up to Debbie, tucks some stray hair behind her ear. And then Ruth just sighs, closing her eyes because she just needs to experience everything with one less sense, please.

And then she remembers, something that she really has to tell Debbie, if they’re going to be sharing secrets all of a sudden. She opens her eyes, says the words before she can reconsider.

“I had an abortion. After… Mark. I had an abortion.”

Debbie’s face goes still. 

Nothing is said for a very long time. 

At least there’s nothing left now, some part of her brain is trying to tell her. At least you have zero secrets to hide. At least this is the end of the deception. However Debbie reacts now, at least this is as bad as it can get.

Ruth can’t look at Debbie’s entirely still face any longer, and switches to staring at the ceiling, waiting for the tsunami as steadily as she can. 

Eventually, Debbie lies down next to her, and Ruth can feel Debbie’s gaze, tracing her profile. Ruth tries not to say anything, and tries to let Debbie go first. If there is one thing that she’s learnt, it is that throwing apologetic words in Debbie’s direction rarely helps the situation. 

Debbie says, in a tone of voice that Ruth can’t really identify, “I’m trying to imagine how wrestling and a pregnancy would combine.”

Ruth bites her lip, wondering how hard she’d have to press to draw blood. “Melrose did some pretty effective workshopping in that area I think.”

“Oh shit, she did. I’d forgotten that…” Debbie trails off into nothing. 

This time the silence stretches for so long that Ruth is beginning to wonder if Debbie fell asleep. Randy snuffles slightly in his sleep, and then falls quiet again. On the other side of the wall, Ruth can just make out Cherry and Keith’s tv, muffled and distant. 

“Pretty sure I’d just said that I wanted to feel less emotions in one day” Debbie says. It’s still in a falsely neutral tone, but it’s better than Ruth could have hoped for. She half turns to look at Debbie, who immediately looks away from her face, staring at what can only be a vacant spot on the wall past Ruth’s shoulder. There’s a slight frown creasing her forehead. “But now, ha, my cup runneth over. Thank you for that new talking point Ruth, jesus, you really pick your moments…”

Ruth is trying not to cry, suddenly.

“Have you been reading scripture again?”

“No” says Debbie shortly. She rolls herself further over, until she’s pretty much just face down in the pillow. Ruth wonders if Debbie is maybe trying to suffocate herself, but then Debbie’s arm stretches out towards her, and Ruth is being pulled into Debbie’s side, into Debbie’s warmth.

Ruth arm goes up automatically to Debbie’s hair, and she’s twisting a lock of blonde between her fingers. Debbie comes back to the surface, and looks at her for a moment, before pressing a kiss to Ruth’s forehead.

“On a different day… I don’t know. But I have no spare emotional capacity for that info right now. So, you get a pass, you understand? Although, _god_ , I am sorry, I know that I have no responsibility for Mark’s actions or whatever, but he is here between us because I chose him and-”

Ruth honestly could not be more surprised if Debbie started speaking in fluent Mandarin. She actually is crying now, and Debbie is pulling her closer and and then using her thumb to wipe away Ruth’s tears.

“Don’t- don’t do that. I’m not trying to make you sad.”

Ruth gulps at little, and feels ridiculous, because this is all nonsense compared to Debbie’s very real problem of a custody battle. She isn’t supposed to be the one weeping on a bed and needing comforting. Her lips tremble, and then she smiles.

“No, I think, I think you’re making me happy.”

Debbie presses her lips together, and then smiles. “Been a while since I’ve done that, huh?”

Ruth nods, and bites the inside of her cheek because she doesn’t want to keep crying. Debbie looks at her seriously, and then seems to be weighing something up.

“Stay here tonight? Not for…I mean, you might not sleep too good, Randy usually has at least one night time wake up but…I really don’t want you to leave.”

It’s a relief, to not have to answer with words. Words are always so difficult, open to mis-steps, or revealing too much, or misinterpretation.

Ruth kisses Debbie instead. Debbie kisses her back, and then wraps her arms tighter around Ruth, as though forever doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

……

Ruth wakes up slowly.

One of her first thoughts is to question why she is still wearing her jeans, why did she fall asleep in her jeans? But then she breathes in deeply, and it’s pure Debbie, it’s all Debbie. 

They’d fallen asleep spooning, and Ruth was pretty sure that she’d been little spoon. But somehow in the night they’d decided to swap positions, and now Ruth was pressed up against Debbie’s back, looking at the nape of her neck. The morning light has the room looking almost ethereal, dust motes twinkling.

There’s a small noise, but one with the potential to build, and Ruth realizes who called her back to consciousness.

Debbie’s further ahead of her, and reaches for Ruth’s hand, removing it from her breasts and kissing the knuckles before wiggling away from Ruth. She sits up, rolls her neck, stretches, and then reaches towards Randy’s cot, murmuring at him. Ruth lies still, trying to understand this new universe in which she fall asleep with her arms around Debbie, and is kissed as she wakes up.

Debbie clearly knows Randy’s routine, because after a couple of moments, she’s rolling out a baby changing mat, and then has plucked Randy out of his cot. Ruth attempts to sit upright, but Debbie doesn’t need any help, she’s already kneeling on the floor and changing Randy with quick, efficient movement. She glances up at Ruth, and smiles. 

“Hey. Can you boil some water? He’ll need his bottle next.”

Ruth nods, and manages to get herself to the bathroom, stretching as she does so and surreptitiously pinching herself. Because she doesn’t really think she might be dreaming, but _just in case_. The disappointment might kill her.

Having followed Debbie’s instructions on how to make up a bottle of milk for Randy (“cold water in first, then the hot. whoa, that’s enough. Then three scoops. Then the lid, and shake it up. Perfect, thanks”) Ruth sits on the bed, and runs her hands through her hair. She feels bleary, despite having taken the opportunity to rinse her face in the sink. 

Debbie comes to sit next to her, Randy in her arms, and the way she smiles at Ruth is not helping the vague aura of unreality settling over the morning. And then she takes the bottle from Ruth’s hand, and Randy lights up at the sight of it. Debbie snorts at him, and then smiles fondly down at him.

“Pooping and eating; what a schedule.”

Ruth smiles at that, and then smiles even wider when Debbie comes leaning across to her, and kisses her once on the cheek, simply.

“So, I like you.” Debbie rolls her eyes at herself, as though not quite believing that she’s saying this. “I mean, I figure that you’d figured, but I thought we should get it all out there.”

Ruth nods, biting down on her grin.

“I mean, yeah. I also like you.”

Debbie nods, and then says “phew” very seriously, and Ruth does laugh at that. Randy looks up at both of them, his eyes switching from his mom to Ruth and back again. Ruth reaches out to him, and wiggles his foot gently.

Debbie grows very solemn next to her, and then sighs.

“He can’t take Randy. I don’t know how serious Mark is but… just the idea of him trying-”

Ruth nods, because she can see the shape of the future now. “You want to put a pin in this until… so that whatever we are can’t be used against you if it goes to court.”

Debbie looks up at the ceiling once, and then back at Randy. 

“Yeah, I can’t risk… besides, even though it seems that the wrestling has helped, I’m still not- I mean, I trust you again, but I’d like to not think about you and Mark in bed every other minute… I get so jealous I can’t function.”

Ruth blushes, at the idea of Debbie being jealous over her. Debbie sighs again, and looks at her. 

“I want to try. It’s just… complicated right now.”

Nodding, Ruth says “I can wait.” Because she can, now that she and Debbie seem to be speaking the same language again.

Debbie’s eyes burn into her, and then she presses her mouth to Ruth’s, kisses her firmly.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff? Is it fluff yet?
> 
> Patios = Terrible. honestly, my uncle fell off a patio once and ended up in a water feature, and although this was a heartwarming and comedic moment to be recalled fondly at future family function, I really feel this illustrates the perils inherent with patios.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com if you wish to share your feelings about patios or otherwise.
> 
> (one more week of zero writing opportunities, and then I'm BACK ON IT)


	25. Barricade Building

Debbie doesn’t want to leave this room. She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t have to, she could just…barricade all three of them in, and order takeout through the window forever. 

(That’d make two barricades in two days. Debbie thinks that might be a good way of measuring the how difficult a week has been - and how many barricades did you imagine building this week?)

She leaves Randy in Ruth’s arms, having managed to wriggle him into his fresh clothes without prompting a crying storm. Debbie showers, and then changes her clothes in the bathroom, with the door not shut but not fully open, in some strange reference to the weird half way territory she and Ruth currently occupy. In the mirror, Debbie checks her face, and is relieved to see that she has washed away most of her sleepiness. She does her teeth, and runs a brush through her hair a few times, pulling it up into a pony tail and leaving it at that. There’s no point in primping, although it isn’t like she’s in a rush. 

Outside the bathroom, Ruth is talking nonsense to Randy, as Randy pats his hands to her face and babbles back.

“Ah, thank you, a face massage, a face massage, such an honor, oh yeah, my nose is really feeling it today, thank you…”

Debbie snorts at her, audibly, and glances at Ruth, who is already smiling at Debbie. Debbie’s heart does a weird half lurch, just at the sight of Ruth holding Randy, sitting on her bed, hair all, everywhere. 

She thinks that she must have just left her emotions behind somewhere, so quickly did she breeze through events yesterday. How was that all in one day? Part of Debbie fervently hopes that Glow gets put into a later time slot, because that way Debbie won’t have quite as much time to power through highs and lows the way she did yesterday.

There’s the worrying idea that, soon, at some point today or maybe tomorrow, her emotions will catch up with her. Debbie’s probably over due a few. 

But, Ruth’s sitting on her bed, holding her baby. And Debbie knows that she has _one_ emotion about Ruth that never seems to go away, no matter how hard Ruth or the world tries to make it.

She thinks about Ruth’s abortion confession gingerly, like poking at a tooth that she knows will be sore. It doesn’t… burn her the way that Debbie might have guessed. The pain comes for Ruth choosing to sleep with Mark, and there’s some annoyance at the fact that no condoms were used- although, is that worse? If Mark had put on a condom there’d have had to be a pause, and then there’d have been the awful fact that Ruth had had some thinking time, but still carried on with her betrayal of Debbie.

This isn’t what she wants to be thinking about right now. With a great effort of will, Debbie summons all thoughts to do with Ruth _climbing on top of Mark’s dick_ , and rinses them down the drain as she washes her hands. Another time, perhaps. When things aren’t so…everything.

“Hey, I’m sorry I made you stay here last night, I don’t… I haven’t even got a spare tooth brush.”

Ruth looks at her, and then shrugs.

“It’s fine, I can just nip back to my room before training. I wanted to stay. It’s hardly going to be an intense session today anyway, not with the way some of the girls were partying yesterday. And, well, Sheila is probably the least likely to be a gossip, so-”

Debbie picks Randy out of Ruth’s arms, and settles him in his carry chair. She murmurs to him “another day in the gym buddy, okay?” as she is buckling him in, and then straightens up. 

“Yeah, it’d be a nightmare if you were with Rhonda. Or Melrose. Or, god, I don’t know. I don’t- if Mark has any kind of idea about…” Debbie flaps a hand between the two of them- “- Christ I really need to get a family lawyer who I can talk to about all this…”

Ruth looks down at her shoes.

“I’m sorry, I’ve made things such a mess.”

Debbie sighs at that, and then impulsively puts both her hands to Ruth’s hair, trying to flatten it down.

“Hey, we’re both… decisions are not our forté, okay? No more making choices for us, ever again. And, why does your hair always look like you’ve just gotten out of bed?”

Ruth smiles softly at her, and then reaches up to hold onto Debbie’s wrists gently. She runs her thumb across Debbie’s pulse points.

“Not sure, although this time I have legitimately just gotten out of bed.”

“Well. That’s a likely story.”

Ruth smiles, and then rises up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Debbie’s mouth, and Debbie thinks about that barricade.

But no. They have to go wrestle. It’s weird, that Debbie keeps half forgetting that she’s now a wrestling star or some such shit. Ruth has to go get changed, they have to wrestle each other in some ridiculous metaphor, and then Debbie needs to go find a lawyer. Priorities.

“Okay, well. Let’s go fucking wrestle; _jesus_ I don’t know if that will ever feel like a normal thing to say…”

……

Melrose comes traipsing over to her, when Debbie arrives at the gym. She eyes Randy, as though ascertaining whether he is likely to make any loud noises, and then squeezes the bridge of her nose.

“I’m… I think might have died yesterday. So can you say something, you know, comfortingly real so that I know I’m not in Gehinnom…?”

Debbie eyes her levelly.

“If you puke on my baby I will rip off your arms.”

Melrose gives a pained little smile, and nods a couple of times.

“Yep, that should do the trick. Thanks, I’m going to go and sit very still somewhere. Maybe there’s a version of wrestling where I don’t have to move at all…”

Although Melrose looks closest to death, none of the other girls are looking too chipper. In fact, when Ruth comes bouncing in ten minutes after Debbie, she’s looking so fresh faced that Debbie worries that people will start asking questions. Next to her, Jenny is lying face down on one of the bleachers, groaning.

Ruth seems to notice half way across the room that she’s walked onto the set of the living dead. She veers around Dawn and Stacey, who are unsteadily making their way to the locker room, and then makes a face to herself. She then looks up, and makes eye contact with Debbie easily. Debbie widens her eyes at Ruth, who looks like she swallows a laugh.

Debbie performs some quick mental calculations of where she and Ruth’s relationship is at in the eyes of the general public, and then shifts sideways slightly in her seat. She doesn’t need to, because there is enough space for about twelve other people to sit next to her before they run out off bench, but Ruth reads the implication clearly enough, and jogs over to sit next to her. 

It’s strange, to discover that she’s missed Ruth, in the fifteen minutes that she wasn’t directly in Debbie’s line of sight. Debbie closes her eyes for a moment, just at the wave of emotion that passes through her when Ruth’s elbow bumps into hers. 

Great. It’s difficult to think of this new, declared weakness for Ruth’s presence as anything other than a vulnerability. Fact of the matter is, if Ruth decided to leave her again, then Debbie isn’t sure how her heart would recover.

The idea of Ruth leaving Debbie for Mark lurches into her mind like a zombie from a crypt. Debbie fights it, battles it away. Ruth wouldn’t, she wouldn’t…

“Looks like the party carried on for a while after we left.”

Debbie struggles back to the surface, remembers that this is Ruth who fell asleep last night in _her_ arms, in _her_ bed. Remembers that this is Ruth who had interlocked her fingers with Debbie’s as they’d both drifted into nothingness. 

She raises a smile, and glances at Ruth. “Some people get their kicks from drugs and alcohol, but I’ve always preferred emotional vulnerability and trauma.”

Ruth snorts at her, and this is maybe an out of body experience. Ruth giggling next to her on the bleachers.

Debbie feels eyes on her, and glances sidelong down the other end of the bleachers. Cherry is there, looking far more on top of herself than everyone else. She’s got her kit together by her feet, and seems to have managed a shower. She cocks her head at Debbie, and then raises her eyebrows.

Annoyingly, Debbie starts blushing. The problem with talking to Cherry about her feelings, is that it turns out that Cherry listens and thus _knows about her feelings_. Or at least, can make a solid guess at them, piecing them together from the slips in Debbie’s conversation or the way she reacts to Ruth.

Debbie stares back at Cherry, and then gives a half shrug as though to say _what?_. It’s hardly going to be enough to satisfy Cherry, but at least Cherry now knows her well enough to not pursue things further. Cherry just shrugs back, and some how manages to radiate a sense of complete zen, as though nothing Debbie does could surprize her, ever. 

Okay, well. Whatever. Ruth nudges her knee with her own, and Debbie begrudgingly breaks eye contact with Cherry first, looking back at Ruth.

“Actually, I’ve just remembered-”

The door swings open, and here is Sam, holding his head in his hands.

“No one is allowed to make any sudden movements or noises, okay? I think my headache is asleep, but if any of you so much as blink at the wrong time-”

Cherry interrupts him easily.

“Sam, no one is wrestling today. I’m cancelling the practice.”

From behind Debbie, Rhonda groans “oh thank fuck for that.” There’s a moment in which everyone looks at Cherry, as though wondering whether she can do that, and then they look back at Sam.

Sam stands with his hands on his hips, and squints at Cherry. 

‘Can you do that?”

Cherry raises her hands into the air, and shrugs.

“I just did.”

Sam sweeps his eyes around the room, taking in the limp bodies and lifeless figures. He must come to the same conclusion, because he waves a hand at Cherry in agreement. 

“Okay, sure. Whatever. We have a break in filming now, anyway, and I’m not here to clean up puke so - fine. No practice. Everyone go home, go lie in a darkened room somewhere. Bash says one of you put lipstick on the robot - if you could refrain from doing that in the future that would be appreciated. And I need to speak to- oh there you are ladies. Captain America and Trotsky, come with me. Everyone else - bye.”

There are a few groans of relief, and no-one seems that interested in why Sam needs to speak to Debbie and Ruth. In fact, Debbie isn’t that interested in why Sam needs to speak to Debbie and Ruth. Just another part of being the title act. Maybe the studio has an angle that they want to follow up. Sam waves at the both of them meaningfully, and then turns away, heading for the stairs.

She lifts up Randy’s carry chair, and steps down the bleachers easily. Cherry makes an adjustment to her progress to fall in step with her, and then clears her throat aimlessly.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

“Shut the fuck up” Debbie says levelly. Cherry snorts with laughter at her. 

“Debbie, not in front of the baby.”

Debbie rolls her eyes so hard that she wonders if it is possible to strain something up in there, and then throws Cherry a glare.

“Could you please be cheerful and annoying elsewhere?”

Cherry grins wide at her, and then says “How’s Ruth?”

Debbie waves a hand over her shoulder. “Ask her yourself.” Cherry laughs silently for a moment, and then shakes her head.

“You know? - I don’t think I need to. Body language, and all that. Anyway. You to have a nice chat with Sam.”

“I hate you” Debbie says straightforwardly, even as she realizes that she now considers Cherry a good friend. An annoying friend, but nevertheless. Cherry gives her a wink, and now here’s Ruth again, jogging over with her bag on her shoulder.

“Debbie, I forgot to tell you-”

The steps creak under her feet, and Debbie shifts her grip on the carry handle. She smiles down at Ruth, but not too widely, because her conversation with Cherry has Debbie all paranoid. Is she being too obvious? _Mark can’t find out._

“Can it wait? I just really want to… let’s just talk to Sam about whatever he needs, and then we can go. I need to go speak to my mom about lawyers, and then, I don’t know. Go lie down for a bit.”

Ruth starts another half sentence, but Debbie just gestures with her head that they should continue upwards, before turning away.

Sam ushers her in, all politeness and sarcastic gestures of the arms. He takes Randy from her, and places the carry chair on the table. He then, astonishingly, produces a cuddly toy from his desk, and passes it in front of her eyes for inspection.

“Definitely a puppy this time. Store brought, not been used to smuggle drugs. This okay?”

Debbie blinks a few times, and then says “Sure, uh, thank you.” Sam nods, and places the toy in Randy’s hands, who immediately grips on to it and waggles it around a few times. Sam stares at Randy, and then stares at Debbie. Debbie gestures at the couch.

“Should I sit, or…?”

Sam shrugs, looking slightly manic.

“You do what you want Debbie. You… follow your heart, okay, I’ll just work around that, as always- where the fuck is Ruth?” Sam leaves the office again, and speaks to Ruth.

“Will you come the fuck on? I - what? What is that supposed to mean? Words, Ruth, use words. Just, jesus christ will you just get up here?” 

Debbie looks at him, and then breathes in deeply through her nose. This is not the main event of the day. She sits on the couch, and makes a few faces at Randy, waving. 

Ruth trudges in, and then Sam shuts the door behind him. Debbie glances at Ruth as she sits down, and wonders why she’s gone pale.

Sam turns to face them.

“Okay, a) what the fuck? and b) if you two ruin this show because you insist on having sex with each other I will fucking pissed, and finally c) _what the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HI guess who has time to write again? That's right, moi.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com if you want to tell me things
> 
> Thank you to everyone leaving nice comments on this - I cherish each one, although I am hopeless at replying. But thank you thank you.


	26. Fight or Flight

Ruth closes her eyes. She doesn’t understand how she managed to forgot the final vital part of yesterday. Sam knows about the two of them. And he is likely to have quite a lot to say about it.

(To be fair to herself, Ruth isn’t sure it would have been helpful for Debbie to know, yesterday, that there is yet another factor in this mess to consider. Ruth might now consider Sam as someone approaching trustworthy. Debbie doesn’t have any of that evidence immediately to hand.)

Debbie immediately tenses up, and Ruth can see Debbie’s fight or flight response kick into gear. Debbie has never chosen flight in her life.

She sits up straighter on the couch, and cooly rests her clasped fingers on her knee.

“What the fuck are you talking about Sam?”

Sam stares at her, as if considering whether he actually has to spell it out, and then looks at Ruth. 

“Are you guys pranking me? This is a prank, right? Ruth, what the fuck am I talking about?”

Ruth sighs, and turn to Debbie. Here goes nothing.

“Sam… heard us. At Bash’s party. Before Florian- he heard us. And then… he told me that he’d heard us, just after Mark had-”

All the color drains from Debbie’s face.

“ _Please god_ tell me that he didn’t mention us in front of Mark.”

Ruth reaches out to her automatically, and Debbie clasps her hand with her own, grappling their fingers together. Ruth speaks quickly, grateful to have a piece of news that isn’t the worst possible scenario.

“No. No, he didn’t. But then, he did refer to it with me, and I should have told you, but with everything else that was going on, it… slipped my mind” Ruth finishes lamely.

Debbie stares at her for an endless moment, and then presses two fingers to her forehead. 

“This is what you had forgotten to tell me.”

Ruth nods, as Debbie rubs her brows for a moment, and then breathes out slowly. Ruth can see Debbie visibly making an effort to not be angry.

“Okay” she says, “Okay. It’s okay, you forgot. There was… a lot happening. I don’t think I can remember all of yesterday either.” She breathes in, and breathes out again, once more. Ruth mouths _sorry_ , and Debbie smiles weakly at her.

Sam clears his voice pointedly.

“Hello? I’m still here? Entire show still in jeopardy, because god knows Debbie I’ve not seen you maintain a consistent mood other than anger for more than thirty minutes. And so as charming as both of you are, making moon faces at each other, you’ll excuse me if I’m waiting for the messy break up and the moment when you throw Ruth through the wall and refuse to be in a half mile radius of her-”

Debbie straightens up, and turns to glare at him.

“What exactly are you looking for from this conversation? You want details? You looking for a re-enactment?”

Sam throws his hands up in the air.

“No, _Debbie_ , I’m just looking for some kind of reassurance that you aren’t going to come to your senses, remember that Ruth slept with _your husband_ , and fucking, I don’t know. Explode? Have you, are you just over that? Is everything now fine? I don’t understand-”

Debbie rolls her shoulders, and Ruth feels that unfortunate but unavoidable surge of attraction at the sight of Debbie being angry with someone other than her. She tries to squash it down, because now is not the time.

Sam seems to actually see Debbie’s face for the first time, and takes a step back. 

“No.” Debbie points at him, one finger which continues to stab the air to emphasise the first few words. 

“No. You don’t get this part of me. You don’t get this part of us. We are professionals. We managed to wrestle when we hated each other, so don’t start…” Debbie looks around the room, looking as though she’d suddenly be anywhere but here, discussing her feelings about Ruth. “Don’t start…questioning our ability to manage to wrestle in a scenario where we don’t hate each other.”

Sam shoves his hands in his pockets, looking defensive.

“Look, Debbie, all I’m saying is that I spent a solid month bending over backwards trying to get you to be in the same ring as Ruth, and now… look, I just feel like there’s a lot of background to this that I’m just… _missing_ , and christ, all the work gets thrown out of the window because you two are going at it in the bedroom rather than just going to therapy like normal people-”

Ruth remembers suddenly that Sam got all up in the face of Carmen’s dad, so it shouldn’t be that surprizing that he is willing to go toe to toe with Debbie for a few verbal rounds. She can’t help but be impressed though. 

Debbie swears bitterly, and then snaps “Fuck, this is none of your goddamn business. I don’t have to talk about this with you at all, this is private _to us_. And if you discuss this with anyone, I swear to god, _that’s_ when your show is in the shit because I will not be working with you, or looking you in the eyes ever again. Do you hear me?” 

She glares at Sam, until he nods, shrugging his shoulders. Debbie then deflates suddenly, resting her head on hands. Her voice sounds low, and close to breaking now. “Fuck, fuck, why does everyone suddenly know already, it’s barely happening and everyone knows? If Mark finds out he’ll use it against me, the bastard…”

Ruth glares at Sam, who runs his hand over his face. He sighs, and takes a deep breath. 

“Look, I’m not trying to sabotage whatever… spiritual journey you are on. I honestly couldn’t care less what you do in the bedroom as long as it doesn’t effect what you can do in the ring. But…you’ve got to think about more than just yourselves. Debbie. I know your life is complicated and special and containing a baby, but everyone else has a complicated life as well. And if _this_ , whatever you two are, fucks things up, it fucks things up for a hell of a lot of other people. If the show fails… what do the rest of the girls do next? Christ, Rhonda was living in her _car_ , for fucks sake.”

Debbie looks back up at him, and Ruth can see that her eyes are brimming with tears. She gestures vaguely at the air.

“Why does it feel like I’m the only one who is in trouble? I’m acting crazy but Ruth is just being realistic, is she?”

Sam crosses his arms, and checks on Randy, glancing at his face to see how he is. It's a bizarre move to Ruth, but she can understand the need to gain a bit of thinking space before he answers Debbie’s question. 

“Well Ruth- I don’t know. I don’t know how you two work, so try not to…kill me, but as far as I can tell, Ruth mainly just reacts to whatever you are doing at the time. So, yeah. I’d guess you are the instigator. Nothing happens without your say so.”

It’s kind of gutting, to hear their relationship described in such a fashion. Ruth knows that this is probably how they look to outsiders, but they _don’t understand_. Debbie’s entire face wobbles, and Ruth can tell that she is teetering between extreme rage or quiet tears. She looks at Ruth for help, and her face is crumpled with pain.

Ruth screws up her courage, and kisses Debbie, before wrapping her arms around her and just holding her for a moment. She can hear Sam say ‘oh jeez’ in the background, but he doesn’t matter, not really. Debbie feels very small in her arms. After a few seconds, Debbie seeks out her lips again, and kisses her once more. She then whispers onto her lips “make him stop or…”

Ruth waits for the expected “or I’ll kill him”, but it never comes, Debbie doesn’t seem to be able to summon it. Ruth kisses her cheek once, and then turns to Sam, who looks a bit like he’s just witnessed a UFO.

“Sam, look. You don’t know us, okay? You said that you didn’t understand us, well just chalk this one up as another thing you don’t understand and _trust us_. Because, yeah, shit is complicated. We are complicated. But, I mean, I can’t speak for Debbie but to me it feels like this is the closest that our relationship has come to being under control in… years.” Debbie snorts weakly next to her, and nods. Ruth takes this small agreement as encouragement, and continues.

“So you’ll just have to trust that we have things under control. It’s the first time we’ve been honest with each other in, well… a long time, and we can’t just put it back in the can, okay? This is how we need to work things out. And… okay, so we’re not _fixed_ , but the shows not going to collapse just because we’ve remembered how to talk honestly to each other.”

Sam starts pacing up and down, not able to look Ruth in the eye. Ruth can tell that he’s got something else to say, but suddenly can’t figure out how to say it. Ruth tries one more sentence, just trying to find the configuration of words that’ll bring this whole conversation to an end.

“Just, look, the show is like the _least important thing_ happening to us right now. Being a wrestler pays our bills, we both need the money, we’re not going to fuck it up, so can you just, lay off the Doomsday predictions?”

Sam grimaces at her, and then starts, Ruth doesn’t even know. His body language suggests that he’s trying to have a private conversation with Ruth despite the fact that Debbie’s _right there_ , staring at him like he’s sprouted an extra head.

“Yes, ah haha, that’s all well and good and extremely, ah, _heartwarming_ , but what happens when, I don’t know, there’s another revelation, or- shit. Ruth. You know what I’m saying…”

The realization of what he is trying to hint at hits her like a truck. Ruth glares at him, and then says smoothly “And I’ve told Debbie about the abortion, so you don’t need to worry about that time bomb, if that is what you are hopping around for?”

Debbie gapes at both of them, and then laughs a little helplessly, covering her face with her hand and groaning to herself.

“Oh great, what is Sam, your diary? What else have you told him? That when you decided to leave the show it was because I’d just fucked you?”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, and then holds up a hand.

“No, Debbie, Ruth hadn’t told me that, and please don’t tell me anything else.” Debbie abruptly looks mortified, and Ruth has to cover her mouth with a hand, fighting off the urge to laugh. Debbie tries to recover, and stands, making her way over to Randy.

“Whatever. Whatever. Thank you for this Sam, it has been fun, let’s never do it again. Now, I’m just going, there, _hello_ thank god you haven’t learnt to speak yet … I’m, I mean, Ruth and I are just going to leave, if you have done rooting through our personal lives?”

With a sigh, Sam says “No Debbie, the last time I checked I was actually your boss, so just stay there for a minute will you?”

Debbie hesitates, and then shifts her weight from one foot to the other, sullenly. Ruth is reminded of a teenager at school. She raises her eyebrows at Sam.

“What? What else do you need?”

Sam looks slightly surprised that pulling rank actually worked, and just stares at them both for a moment.

“What are you doing now?” he says lamely, and Debbie scoffs at him.

“Not whatever it is that you’re perverted fantasies are hoping for, so- I’m going to take Randy to my mom’s, and see if she can shed any light on messy fucking divorces, seeing as she lived through one. And then-” Debbie glances at Ruth, and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Sam scratches his chin, and turns to Ruth. 

“Listen, I know the last time that I asked you to come up with ideas for the show wasn’t maybe the best moment in your own, personal life, or whatever, but- the studio fucking loved how it all played out. So, I was wondering whether you’d have time today to, I don’t know, throw some ideas down on a piece of paper. Just, get the ball rolling. Debbie… Debbie, you could help, god knows you have a flair for the dramatic.”

Ruth raises an eyebrow at him. “Sam, are you trying to encourage us to bond, because I think we might be a few pages ahead of you…”

“No, I’m not. But, you’re the only professional actresses I’ve got, and turns out storylines without extreme horror don’t come naturally to me. So, I’ll see what I can do, you see what you can do, you know. I’ll pay you extra.”

Debbie glances at Ruth, and then shrugs. Ruth nods. 

“Okay, although I promise nothing.”

“Hey, I’ll pay you for the ideas, not for time spent, you understand? And, yeah. Try not to… can the two of you just try and stay in one piece. Please?”

…

The parking lot is deserted. It feels like some much needed privacy, after the obstacle course of shame that they’ve just had to power through. Debbie buckles Randy into the back seat, and then leans on her car. 

“Well that wasn’t traumatic in the slightest.”

Ruth looks away, focusing on a distant billboard.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t remember, and warn you that might be coming.”

Debbie shrugs, looking annoyed, but not specifically annoyed at her. “Just one more spinning plate of bullshit, I guess… okay, I really need to go speak to my mom and start figuring out the legal side of this, before my whole life collapses around my ears.”

Ruth nods, feeling glum. They are fine when they’re alone, but Sam’s conversation has helped to remind her just how precarious the situation is when someone from outside is introduced. Debbie sighs to herself after a moment. 

“Look, I’m… I’m not easy, okay. In the best of circumstances, I’m not easy. I’m… I feel everything too much and sometimes I get angry over stupid situations and I’ll hold on to problems rather than just talking like a normal fucking human, and-” Debbie looks up at the sky, and seems to try and control herself.

“-and I have a baby, and haha, a husband who you’ve met, so… I understand, if you want to just reverse a bit. Because, I’m not easy, and- you should be happy. And it might be easier for you to be happy if… if we don’t take this any further.”

Ruth realizes that Debbie is trying to give her an out. The idea of Ruth having any control over what her heart wants is almost comical, and she smiles softly.

“I mean… I know you aren’t easy. Have you, forgotten everything that went before? You haven’t been easy for me for a while. And I’m still here. And still wanting… you, and all your spinning plates of bullshit.”

Debbie bites her lip, and then tilts her head, smiling with one corner of her mouth.

“Okay, well. I’d just like to point out that you aren’t a cakewalk either, Ruth Wilder.”

Ruth shrugs, and reaches out to Debbie, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Debbie ear. Debbie closes her eyes momentarily. Ruth’s heart thuds, changing gears.

“I’m not a cakewalk, but you like the challenge.”

Debbie smiles at her, and then rolls her eyes, opening her car door. 

“Yes. God help me. I’ll see you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patios are the worst. Just don't go outside. Refuse all bbq invites. Tie a bunch of balloons to your house and just Up your way away from all out door space responsibilities. 
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com - come have a chat. I am extremely polite and I can be positively charming, unless you are peddling patio imagery, because then you will be reported and blocked *eyes Jess with hurt and betrayal*


	27. Not Normal

For once, Ruth spends the afternoon actually doing something that Sam wants her to do.

She buys a cheap notepad from a store, along with a couple of bags of snacks. Her stomach growls at her, because what with one thing and another, Ruth can’t remember the last time she had a meal.

Sheila isn't in their room, and Ruth feels a weird pang of… guilt? Regret? That she doesn’t have the slightest idea about where Sheila would go or what Sheila would do in her free time. Ruth has been so focused on Debbie that she’s certain that she has been neglecting her relationships with her co-workers. She resolves to try harder, from now on. 

It’s a slow afternoon. Ruth fills sheet after sheet with possibilities, but she thinks that she is struggling to tell the difference between a good idea and a bad idea these days. Ninety percent of her scribblings end up in the trash. It would be demoralising, but Ruth has built up a good tolerance for demoralising activities.

She ends up filling half her notes with what can only be described as sketch comedy between the various wrestling personas. Ruth isn’t sure why she is doing it, and Sam certainly didn’t indicate that he wanted anything like this, but it’s just fun to do. Ruth snorts delightedly to herself at the idea of all of the wrestlers on one of those open top tourist buses, having a tour of L.A. lead by Liberty Belle. It’s dumb, but the idea of all the various ways their characters could interrupt Debbie’s straight-faced monologue about the city sights has Ruth giggling for a good five minutes. Zoya could bring a megaphone and just yell communist nonsense from the back.

Doing the sketches gives a bit of structure to the motives for fights, because she can now imagine Liberty Belle and Welfare Queen fighting over who leads the tour next time. Or the Biddies taking on Machu Pichu because they tried Mexican food once and didn’t like it, and Peru is somewhere close to Mexico, isn’t it Ethel?

Ruth eats junk food joyfully, aware that she doesn’t have to worry in the slightest about what it might do to her body. By the time she’s finished her second bag for potato chips, Ruth finally has a set of notes that she thinks she could show to Sam. And Sam might hate it, but Ruth has an idea that Bash would be on board.

She takes a shower, and whilst Ruth is in there Sheila returns. Ruth calls out a greeting, which Sheila responds to with a grunt.

When Ruth emerges, Sheila is looking at the notes that are just scattered over Ruth’s bed. Ruth pulls up short, but then notices that Sheila is smiling.

“These are funny.”

Ruth tries not to look as though the idea of Sheila having a sense of humor had never crossed her mind, and then shrugs, saying “thanks. Sam asked me to- well he probably doesn’t want this, but I guess I was just playing around with the characters.”

Sheila picks up another piece of paper, and points at a sentence. “But I would never say that. I am ambivalent towards cats.”

Nodding seriously, Ruth takes the paper out of Sheila’s hand. “Um. Noted.” Sheila stares at her, and as a further offering Ruth reaches for the pen, and crosses out the offending line.

Their phone starts ringing. Ruth darts towards it, grateful to not have to bond too thoroughly with Sheila.

“Hey. It’s me.”

Ruth immediately turns to face the wall, searching out some privacy.

“Hey… you okay?”

Debbie sighs, and Ruth feels a fool, clutching the receiver closer to her ear just to try and keep Debbie next to her.

“Yes. Well. Nothing has changed, and my mom mainly just fed me celery and let me call Mark every name under the sun, but-”

There’s a pause. Ruth fumbles for something to say.

“Celery and no dip?”

Debbie makes a noise delicately pitched between a laugh and a cry for help. Somehow Ruth knows that she’s put her hand over her eyes.

“There was… thousand island, I think, and- look, do you want to go get something to eat with me? Mom has Randy. And. I just, I have a need for distraction and normality, and…you are-”

“Distracting?” Ruth provides helpfully. Debbie snorts at her.

“Well, you certainly aren’t normal…”

Ruth smiles at the wall. “Sure. Now?”

Debbie breathes out heavily, as though this has taken significant effort. 

“Yeah. I’ll drive.”

……

There’s a slightly shabby diner, a couple of blocks away from the motel. It isn’t the closest, but the closest diner comes with the jeopardy of some of the other girls turning up. Debbie and Ruth have a half conversation covering this issue, and it doesn’t take much reading between the lines to understand why Debbie isn’t that keen to run into anyone else.

Florian definitely knows. If Debbie’s theory about Florian and Bash’s relationship is true, then Bash almost definitely knows, there’s no way that Florian would keep it a secret between from his gay lover.

Sam definitely knows. Although… weirdly, Sam feels safe. 

Debbie’s grumbling about the tiny parking lot spaces and non-existent lighting, while Ruth looks out of the car window, searching the sky for stars. Nothing.

The diner is empty, and the decor hasn’t been touched since the late sixties, by the look of things. Ruth and Debbie share a glance, but there isn’t really anything to say. The decor isn’t important. And the fact that it is empty is weirdly comforting. 

Debbie leads them to the table that’s furthest away from the counter, and Ruth picks up the menu, turning it over in her fingers. 

“Did Sam ever tell you about his movie idea? Time travelling and trying not to fuck your own mother. He could shoot some scenes here.”

Debbie pulls a face and then says “Isn’t that just Back to the Future?” Ruth nods, pulling a face.

“Yeah, although I think he’d anticipated a more… x rated version. But yeah, that ship has sailed.”

Debbie snorts, and then says “Poor Sam. Permanently in the middle of a really shitty day.”

They order burgers, and it turns out that the burgers of the sixties are pretty much the same as the burgers of today. Debbie makes an appreciative noise around a mouthful.

“Oh god, I was starving. My mom can’t watch me eat anything like this without flinching slightly to every mouthful.”

Ruth smiles, and looks around. Still no other customers. She isn’t sure if she’s in a rom-com or a horror movie.

Debbie seems to read her mind, because she says “Sorry. About the location. I’m just trying to, I don’t know. Contain things a little. Because of …. shit, reasons. Sam doesn’t seem like a gossip, and Florian probably won’t tell anyone other than Bash- and Bash isn’t going to randomly seek out Mark and be like “guess what!…”

Ruth makes a face of horror, and Debbie rolls her eyes.

“Yeah. But - I mean, I trust Cherry, but I’m pretty sure she’s at least half on to us. I don’t think we’ve been playing things that subtle.”

Wincing slightly, Ruth says “Sheila was a bit… I don’t know, I can’t tell if I’m being paranoid. She said ‘have a nice time’ in a funny sort of way.”

Debbie sighs, and rests her chin on her hand. 

“I don’t know what we are doing yet, so I’d prefer it if the entire world also didn’t know.”

Ruth feels a wave of… something, at how Debbie looks, and how Debbie is talking. This feels like old Debbie, the one from before that Ruth thought she might have lost forever. The Debbie who is permanently in the middle of a shitty day, who talks to Ruth because Ruth is the only one allowed to see how shitty everything is.

She smiles softly.

“I’ve missed you. I mean, I wish things weren’t so…messy, but- I’ve missed you.”

Debbie bites her lip, and then just looks at Ruth. There’s agreement in her eyes, even if there’s nothing from her mouth.

Distracting. Ruth is supposed to be distracting Debbie, not raking up all the big stuff for inspection. She plunges into her bag, pulls out her sheets of notes for the show. 

“Here, do you want to take a look over the stuff I did for Sam?”

Debbie half laughs and then says “What the…fuck is all of this? Did you write a book?”

……

Debbie calls her a nerd seven times over the next twenty minutes, but Ruth can tell that she’s amused, as she reads through Ruth’s scribbles. When Debbie reaches Ruth’s tour guide idea she does actually laugh, before pointing at the piece of paper and saying “Okay, that one is funny, I will accept that is funny. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ruth lets the insults wash over her, because this is as close to therapy as she thinks they might get. Debbie good-naturally insulting Ruth, without actually aiming to hurt her feelings. Each insult feels like a band aid, sticking them back together.

When Debbie gets to the end of the stack of papers, she sits back in her seat, finishing off her last few fries.

“Sorry, I’ve probably got grease all over them… they’re good. Sam will - well, I don’t know if it is what Sam wants but, it’d be fun, wouldn’t it? To do this shit as well as wrestling. There’s only so many times we can fight each other without some kind of back story. Steel Horse had this whole - there was like, a plot.”

At the mention of Steel Horse, Ruth snorts, and she looks down at the table. Something twists in her stomach. She’d forgotten about… that. 

“Does he… I mean, he must have a real name, or did you just call him-”

Ruth abandons that sentence abruptly. She flexes her fingers, before trying to relax. The jealously surges through her, irrationally. 

When Ruth looks up at Debbie, Debbie is watching her closely.

“What is your head doing right now?”

Ruth looks away, out of the window. A car drives past, with one broken tail light. She bites her lip. Nothing gets to Debbie like some honesty.

“I’m, trying not to imagine what Mr Horse looks like.”

Debbie makes an amused sound, and then says “Imagine the opposite of you.” 

Ruth raises her eyebrows at nothing, and then mutters “Oh yeah, I’d already gotten that far…” She takes a swallow of her Coke, even though there’s nothing left in the bottom excepted melted ice water. 

Debbie’s foot nudges her own, and Ruth looks at her. Debbie says, in a bland voice, “Are you jealous?”

Ruth swallows, trying to get words past her suddenly tightening throat.

“Do you want me to be?”

Debbie doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then nods. “Yes.” Her voice is… Ruth looks away, trying and failing to avoid licking her lips.

“It’s just… I mean. He’s probably a far better wrestler than me, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.” Debbie doesn’t saying anything else, until Ruth’s gaze is dragged back to her. And then she says “But you are better at other things, so.”

After a moment, in which Ruth can _feel_ each passing mili-second dragging across her skin, Debbie says “Why weren’t you jealous of Mark?”

Ruth blinks, and the question startles a laugh out of her.

“What? Are you kidding? I could… I mean, it took me forever to be able to even look at him without imagining… _god._ ”

Debbie’s face is inscrutable, and Ruth is aware of the table between them, the server clanging pots around in the kitchen. The pressure of real life weighs down on her, heavy.

“Let’s go.” Debbie slaps some money down on the table. “You ready?”

……

The non-existent lighting in the parking lot suddenly seems to no longer irritate Debbie as much as it did earlier.

“Come here” she says, roughly, and then Ruth is in-between the car door and Debbie, and Debbie has pressed her against the cool metal, kissing her as though she’s trying to tell her something.

Ruth wraps her arms around Debbie’s neck, and they sway together, and the closeness isn’t enough, because there are layers and layers to their lives which will take more than just a make out session to untangle…

She doesn’t complain though, when Debbie’s tongue sweeps past her own, and Debbie grabs her butt possessively. Ruth’s hips are pulled towards Debbie, and it’s a crazy, double time heart beat that’s rattling in her ears.

It’s just… kissing Debbie is so _good_. Her lips are just- Ruth bites at her lower one, and Debbie hisses slightly in response. Ruth feels the change in Debbie’s grip, and then Debbie has moved to her neck, is running her lips over the skin near the neck line of Ruth’s top. Ruth gasps into the night air, and half laughs.

“I thought… I’m pretty sure we had a conversation about putting this on hold until-”

Debbie bites at her neck once, and then kisses her lips again.

“Can you stop though?” she mumbles, sounding vaguely irritated. “Because I-”

Ruth moans, and presses herself forward into Debbie, seeking out one of Debbie’s hands and placing it on her breasts. Debbie swears, and then her hips jerk forward so hard that the car’s suspension rocks. 

“Fuck, _Debbie_ … take me somewhere.”

Debbie breaks the kiss, and for one mad second Ruth wonders whether Debbie is going to insist on fucking her right here and now. Ruth doesn’t think she’d be able to do anything other than agree.

But Debbie starts fumbling in her bag for the car keys, with one hand, as the other pulls Ruth close for a final kiss.

“Don’t make me stop.” It comes out almost broken, as though Debbie has lost a battle with herself. Ruth kisses her again, whispering an answer onto her lips.

“Never.”

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you patios (although I'm basically over it and now my wrath is reserved for sheds, because can I find a handy man to come and quote me for laying the base for a shed? NO I CANNOT. but nevertheless, patios, grr. A bugger to clean etc.)
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for reading


	28. Physics

The car engine is a low, muted rumble, interrupted only by the clutch. Debbie grinds the gears three times in the first five minutes of the drive, muttering swear words to herself. It’s odd, watching the way that Debbie seems… Ruth fumbles for a word, and then settles for nervous. Nervous isn’t quite right, but it’ll have to do. Debbie isn’t usually nervous around Ruth. Recently, Debbie’s been either angry or resigned or burning with passion. 

Ruth remembers relaxed Debbie, from before. The Debbie who would mischievously tip the base of Ruth’s drink higher so Ruth’s only options were spilling it all over herself or drowning. And then she’d just look at Ruth, and say something disparaging about how clumsy Ruth was, and only laugh when Ruth wiped the excess drink off her chin and flicked it at her. 

She doesn’t even remember when that memory was from. Certainly, before the first time they slept together. In the half light with Paradise Cove playing softly in the background. Ruth has a pang of nostalgia for the days when she could tell Debbie she looked beautiful without panicking about her point being misconstrued. When she could watch Debbie stretch and not remember way her stomach muscles moved when Debbie had ground herself down onto Ruth’s mouth.

They’re just two people dragging around a bunch of fucked up memories and resentment about stupid, stupid, choices. How is this even supposed to work? Ruth can’t imagine a future in which she doesn’t want Debbie in ways beyond friendship boundaries, but she can yearn for a fresh start with Debbie. They could meet on this show, and just, fall into bed without all this… 

Debbie swears again, and Ruth looks at her.

“Can you just- talk? My radio is fucked and the silence is… I’m thinking too many thoughts.”

Ruth sighs heavily, and tips her head back onto the car headrest.

“We don’t deal too well in enforced non-physicality, do we?”

Debbie clears her throat shortly.

“No- I mean, I’d happily have you in my lap right now but I don’t want to get pulled over…”

Ruth smiles at nothing. They’re nearly there, she thinks. If they can just keep it together for a few more minutes, they’ll be at the motel. Everything is easier, when they can just drown out the noise with each other’s skin.

Ruth can feel the want, running up and down her body. Maybe they should have just fucked in the carpark. At least that way… Ruth needs some of her arousal to go somewhere, _jesus_ she can’t think. But now she is being made to think, and this lull, this short drive, might kill them both. 

Debbie flicks on her indicator, and nearly, _nearly_ …

“Did you forgot how to talk? Usually you have a million things to say but now, right now, you are mute?”

Ruth presses her hand to her forehead, and rubs, hoping for an answer.

‘What do you want to talk about?”  
Debbie bites her lip, and shrugs. “Anything other than the reasons why we shouldn’t be fucking doing this…I don’t know. Politics? Sports? I don’t know what people normally talk about.”

Nearly, Ruth thinks again. But not quite…

“We should stop.” Debbie looks sharply at her, and there a betrayal on her face. Ruth clarifies quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to. I’m like, a mess, for you.” 

Debbie mumbles something and nothing, but the words _how romantic_ are wrapped up in there. Ruth pinches at the bridge off her nose, and tries to concentrate. “But. We should. Stop, I mean.”

Debbie glances in the rear view mirror, and there’s the usual set to her jaw that comes when Debbie is going to defy all common sense just for the sheer hell of it. 

“Why? God, I have my own list, but let’s see if we match.”

Ruth’s list stretches out in front of her. Because it shouldn’t be like this. Because if you leave me again then we truly are done. Because if I’m the reason Mark gets Randy then I know you’ll never forgive me. Because we have to be able to work together or I’m destitute. Because I’m pathetic enough that I can’t lose this hopeless half way house of functionality that our friendship has landed in. 

But it is the most pressing point that bubbles to her lips.

“Because…you still hate me?”

Debbie snorts. They’ve arrived, Ruth manages to notice, through the haze. Debbie parks up, and kills the ignition with a dismissive gesture. 

They sit in silence. The motel is still, no sign of movement. Debbie’s room is _right there_. 

Debbie runs her palms over the rim of the steering wheel, once, and sighs.

“It’s so much easier to communicate when you don’t force me to use words.”

“You are the one who was insisting that I talk?” Ruth can’t keep the note of amusement out of her voice, despite it all. Debbie glowers at her momentarily.

“About sports, or something. Not… ugh.”

Ruth keep her silence. She is learning, finally, that she gets more out of Debbie when she doesn’t force the questions. Debbie starts talking again after a time.

“Okay, if you ever thought I hated you… I was angry, when I found out about you and Mark. Angry, and…confused. I still don’t understand why you would- whatever. But.”

Debbie stops, as if following this line of thought is exhausting, and takes a deep breath.

“I mean, I still am angry, when I think about you and him. But, you know. I try not to think about it any more. For the first month or so I deliberately thought about you two all the time, just to try and power my anger, some how. But now, I try not to think about it. Is that how people deal with things?”

Ruth shrugs. “Um. Maybe? I’m not sure. I’m not… qualified in this area.”

Debbie looks at her, stares at her. 

“Look, I’m pretty sure that I’m the one who is supposed to be full of second thoughts, and you are supposed to be the harlot who will sleep with anyone.”

Ruth takes a second before she realizes that Debbie is joking, and it’s only when the laugh escapes her lips that Debbie leans over to her, and kisses her with intent. There’s a tremor to the fingers that reach across for her though, and Ruth wonders whether Debbie feels like she’s jumping off a cliff as well. Debbie break the kiss after a moment, and rests her forehead against Ruth’s, in a move that is by now so automatic it is almost as simple as breathing. 

“I’m not entirely sure about your characterization of my role, there.”

Debbie bites at her lip, before seeming to come up with a better idea and reaching across to bite at _Ruth’s_ lower lip, tugging gently. 

“Take some direction, will you?”

Ruth moans slightly, and she can feel the rational, doomsday parts of her brain shutting down in direct response to Debbie’s actions. Because sure, there’s the arousal, but it is also impossible not to just allow herself to bask in Debbie’s approval, the playful way that she is interacting with Ruth. 

When Debbie’s hands spread on her thighs, and start sliding upwards in an almost absentminded fashion, that’s when Ruth groans again. She breaks the kiss, and leans slightly away from Debbie, hoping for just a little thinking space. 

“I think, I’m not entirely certain we’re supposed to be doing this either. I’m not sure this is in the rule book of reconciliation.”

Debbie observes her from a hand width away, and there’s a smile playing at her lips.

“There are… rules?”

Ruth shrugs, and she doesn’t know anymore. Debbie wants her. The thought is overwhelming the rest of her brain. 

Debbie is unbuckling her seat belt, and then she leans over to unbuckle Ruth’s. Ruth gets a fresh wave of her perfume, and she takes the opportunity to kiss Debbie’s neck. The way Debbie leans into her and groans is everything, and Ruth has her hands on Debbie’s body now. Running up her sides and then locking around the back of her neck, as she kisses Debbie and kisses Debbie, and kisses-

She wants Debbie to take her, she wants to have this one night with Debbie, with no interruption or thoughts from the outside.

She wants Debbie.

“Get out of the car Ruth.” Debbie’s voice murmurs low in her ear, and Ruth nods distractedly. She drags her fingernails across the nape of Debbie’s neck and runs her open mouth along Debbie’s jaw line, before sucking at her earlobe, once. Debbie makes an indescribable noise, and then leans even further across Ruth, opening the car door for her. 

“Just, get out of the car, will you? My room is… right there.”

Ruth nods, but does nothing else about the suggestion. And then she grins when Debbie seems to forget her own sentence, and kisses Ruth hard, pulling her closer and running a hand up her thigh again. Ruth spreads her legs slightly in response, and she wants, she _wants_ …

It’s half way between a gasp and a moan, when Debbie’s finger tips find Ruth’s skin, and the top of her jeans, and dig in with an unapologetic curl. Ruth manages to say “Yeah, but you are right _here-_ …” but she loses the rest of the sentence when she feels Debbie’s mouth at the pulse point of her neck.

Debbie kisses her skin, and she has one hand on the back of Ruth’s head, fingers twisting into her hair and tugging slightly. Ruth thinks that her eyes are open, but she can’t see anything, all of her processing ability is focused on how this _feels_.

After a moment, in which Debbie sucks at her neck so hard that Ruth knows there will be a mark, Debbie leans back, and then she laughs when Ruth follows her, wrapping her arms around Debbie’s neck and pressing kisses to her mouth. Debbie kisses her back, and then puts her hand over Ruth’s mouth, brushing her fingertips against Ruth’s lips. She looks at her, serious.

“Get out of the car Ruth, or I won’t go down on you.”

Ruth blushes abruptly, and then laughs. 

“Oh, and who exactly are you threatening with that? Me, or you?”

Debbie groans, and mumbles “I don’t know.” And then she kisses Ruth again. Ruth grabs at one of her hands, and Debbie’s way ahead of her, pressing her hand between Ruth’s legs. It’s nowhere near enough, but Ruth spreads her legs, chasing the pressure. Debbie groans again, and then she is nearly mounting the console, and now Ruth is laughing again.

“Get out of the car Debbie.”

“No.”

“No, but, I’m pretty sure that it is physically impossible for you to go down on me in here.”

Debbie bites at her neck, and then huffs _”physics”_ , sounding exasperated and willing to rewrite laws of nature. 

They make it out of the car, and then it is just the keys, deliberately hiding in the bottom of Debbie’s bag. Ruth is standing too close to her, she knows, and she also knows that her proximity is making it even trickier for Debbie to find the keys in the bottom of her bag.

“Why… fuck- I need to attach these keys to a bungee cord, every time I want to get into my room quickly they fucking teleport into another dimension.”

Ruth is scanning the other doors now, looking left and right. It’s hard not to feel the fear, the sense that they are running out of time. All it would take is one person to appear, friend or foe, and she knows that they’d never make it through the door. Debbie would disappear inside, and Ruth would have to return to her room, and lie in the darkness listening to Sheila’s snores. 

“Oh thank _god_ ” Debbie says after a further moment, and there’s the unmistakeable noise of the keys, jingling in her hand. Ruth watches as they turn in the lock, and then the door is open, and they’ve made it, somehow. 

They woke up in that bed together. It is startling to remember. Debbie turns the key in the lock behind them, and near collapses against it. Ruth watches her, as Debbie tosses her bag on the side table and heaves a sigh of relief. 

“Why is it that every moment I manage to snatch alone with you has to be earned through… I don’t know, some kind of insane endurance challenge?”

Ruth approaches, and Debbie reaches out for her, pulling her close. 

“It was only finding the keys in your bag.”

“Yeah, well.” Debbie huffs a little at nothing, before resting her forehead against Ruth’s again. “Life could be easier.”

“True.”

Debbie finds Ruth’s fingers with her own, and they twist together. Ruth can feel Debbie’s heart, beating hard.

“Kiss me?” she asks, after a moment. Ruth thinks it might be the first time Debbie has ever asked her that. All other times the kisses have just happened. Ruth doesn’t know what to make of the request. 

But it is easy enough to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one is allowed to mention anything to do with a posting schedule, okay? This one is for @andilaughatmyself
> 
> (fucking patios.)
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com (encouragement is GOOD I am fighting the block)


	29. Several Conversations

Debbie hadn’t been lying, or exaggerating, when she’d said that communication was easier when they didn’t actually have to talk.

It’s all gone too fast. Her heart is several weeks ahead of her brain, several years maybe. Ruth kisses her too softly, and it doesn’t match the need in Debbie, the absolute, unequivocal certainty that this is _right_ , and to hell with her brain.

Debbie grabs at Ruth’s top, and pulls her closer, enjoying the way Ruth gasps into her mouth.

They’re constantly having several conversations at once, Debbie realizes. That’s why it’s so exhausting. In the training ring, they’re careful and steady and double checking every move, and there’s no impulsiveness allowed there. Impulsiveness ends in injury. Debbie would never surprise Ruth in the ring, and she knows that Ruth wouldn’t surprise her. All interactions are planned, practiced and perfected. 

Ruth’s tongue is in her mouth now, and then is just running along her lower lip. Debbie can’t tell what Ruth will do next, Ruth can surprise her here. And the unpredictability of it is killing her, in the most metaphorical of ways. 

She’s never felt more alive.

When they’re in the show, when Debbie has a Southern drawl and Ruth is intent on destroying capitalism, then they’re having a conversation about hate, or at least that’s what they’re projecting. Secretly, that’s when they’re closest to being in love, or how Debbie imagines love might be. It’s all perfectly in synch. Ruth wasn’t wrong, when she described it as Cold War ballet. They move together, no hesitation, searching out some higher purpose. Debbie can vaguely remember a time when she thought wrestling was stupid. No more. 

They’re moving together now, and Debbie does remember doing this before. She remembers the couch, that same damn couch in Ruth’s apartment, the one that she hadn’t seen since. 

Ruth has both of her arms around Debbie’s neck, and is almost climbing up her. Ruth’s hips were pressing into her in a rhythm, and Debbie moans as she sends both hands down, to fumble at the button and zip of Ruth’s jeans.

On the couch, all those years ago. Ruth had moved like this against Debbie then, in a sort of hopeless abandon, as though none of it really mattered. As it turned out, it had mattered, it had pretty comprehensively fucked them up for half a decade. But _god_ , the way Ruth had felt against Debbie’s skin. Debbie doesn’t think she would have stopped, even if she’d had a snap shot into the future. 

She doesn’t think she could have stopped.

These days, the conversation Ruth and Debbie have in front of other people is awkward, and stilted. It never really counted for anything, only going through the motions of civility. And the conversation they have when they’re alone is one of cautious forgiveness. 

Debbie is learning that forgiveness isn’t some kind of binary state. She won’t just wake up one day and realise that she has forgiven Ruth all at once, in a rush. There’s shades to it. 

Sometimes Debbie thinks she’s completely forgiven Ruth, and but she remembers Mark’s smug victory in describing exactly how he’d fucked Ruth. Or she remembers the way that Ruth’s hugs had felt exactly the same before and after her betrayal of Debbie. Or she remembers… an imagined memory, of Ruth and Mark laughing about Debbie, afterwards. There’s no way for Debbie to have the truth of it, and yet it still burns. 

Debbie is struggling, she realizes. Ruth is here, and Debbie tries to bury herself in the physicality of it. She doesn’t want to be fighting imagined memories, right here right now. 

Ruth breath is hitching, as Debbie shoves her pants downwards. Ruth’s arms come to wrap around her neck, and Debbie is half carrying her now. Some combination of Ruth’s flicks and Debbie’s curses leave the item of clothing on the floor. 

And then Debbie is angry again, although she doesn’t even know why. It’s an irrational emotion to be wading through, when the girl she wants (has wanted for years) is here, and wants her back. This is supposed to be the happy ending.

She’s angry at herself. Because actually, maybe they could have had all this before. Before Mark, and…everything else. 

Ruth can tell the shift in Debbie’s mood, she knows. When Debbie places her on the bed, it is with a conscious effort to not just drop her there, in a demonstration of anger. Ruth kneels, and then places both hands on Debbie’s face, cupping her cheeks and seeking out eye contact. Debbie fights it momentarily, and then relents, allowing Ruth to look at her properly.

“What’s happened?”

Jesus Christ. It’s a fucking effort, to not lie and evade and pretend everything is fine. 

“I’m… god, I keep… doing this with you makes my mind imagine you doing this with Mark, and then… jesus it’s like Banquo’s ghost, the anger, it just turns up and pisses everywhere.”

There’s a pause. Ruth’s face goes very still, as Debbie struggles with her emotions, fighting internal fires. 

And then Ruth says “Banquo’s ghost did not _piss_ everywhere.”

Debbie closes her eyes, and then an unwilling laugh escapes her. “I mean, figuratively… look the analogy specifics are not important.”

Ruth’s thumbs stroke gently over her cheeks, and Debbie closes her eyes for a moment, feeling some of the internal (eternal) pressure ease. And then Ruth drops her hands, and sits back on her heels. She gazes up at Debbie, and it isn’t fair, the way that Ruth can find a half smile. 

“Well, sure, but as long as we are clear that Shakespeare did not write about a pissing ghost.”

Debbie bites at the inside of the lip, the anger prowling inside her gut. 

“I’m trying to talk to you about real things.”

Ruth shrugs, smiling softly at her, as though Debbie’s anger doesn’t scare her, as though it never did. 

“This is me trying to talk back. I’m not… ha, you know I don’t react well to serious conversations.”

It would be easy to kiss Ruth again now. To just… revert back to physicality because at least if her mouth was doing something else then she wouldn’t have to talk. 

“Do you _want_ to talk about it?” Ruth is pressing the issue now, as though she knows that unless something changes, Debbie is never going to be able to do anything other than bottle things up until her ribs are creaking. 

“‘Want’ is entirely the wrong word in this context, you understand that, right?”

Ruth nods simply, and then Debbie sits down next to her with a sigh. 

“But, yeah. I think I probably need to…”

….

It’s like pulling teeth. Giving birth had been easier.

It all comes out, of course. All of Debbie’s _stupid_ … fears. She’s not angry any more, she’s fucking terrified.

She manages to articulate that much, even if it is through clenched teeth, whilst staring at the wall.

“If this doesn’t- if I’m not with you I don’t fucking know what I do next? Go back to Mark, I guess. Fall to my knees and beg his forgiveness and claim I was having some kind of psychotic episode, or I was concussed, or whatever.”

Ruth fidgets next to her, and the pause is telling, Debbie thinks. Ruth can’t actually promise anything, because who can _promise_ anything about the future. It’s all entirely unpredictable, asides from the rising and setting of the sun. 

“You wouldn’t… why would you go back to him?”

Debbie shrugs fretfully. 

“I don’t know. Because I have to go somewhere. And… well I can’t live in a motel for the rest of my life. It'd be a fucking shitty option to go back to him, but it isn’t like I’m overwhelmed with options right now.” A thought strikes her, and Debbie has to gulp, before she can power out the sentence.

“Of course, I couldn’t go back to Mark if you were with him. That idea kept me awake at night for a while. What if you two were suddenly in love, hell, you managed step one without too many problems.”

Ruth rubs her palms over the tops of her bare legs. Debbie wonders if Ruth is cold. Her jeans are on the floor

“I’m not… It was never about Mark, surely you must know that by now? I never wanted… Mark.”

Debbie snorts.

“Tch, yeah well. He still had you, didn’t he? I- god, that’s what I’m still angry about. I’m angry that Mark had you, because he was never supposed to have you, and you were never supposed to even look at him… not like. You were supposed to… I wanted you to look at me like that.”

Ruth doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then lies back on the bed. Debbie turns around to glance at Ruth automatically. The move has surprised her. Ruth is staring at the ceiling, looking almost supernaturally calm. 

“But I was looking at you like that… I spent five years looking at you like that-”

“Then why the fuck didn’t _we_ have an affair, Jesus that would have been so much more fun…?” Debbie is frustrated that she can’t keep the note of amusement out of her voice, her emotions skittering around like cats on roller skates.

Ruth reaches for her, and Debbie relents, allowing herself to fall back on the bed as well. It’s all such a fucking chore, this existence. Debbie wants Ruth to climb on top of her and fuck her. 

Ruth grasps at her hand, and brings it up to her lips, kissing her knuckles. It reminds Debbie of something, but what she couldn’t say. Her anxious heart beat soothes slightly. 

“I’m not going to go back to Mark. He couldn’t claim to have anything other than a… fraction of me, compared to you. And - well, I mean, you are still married to him. We are having an affair, technically.”

Debbie considers the importance of fractions. She rolls onto her side, staring down at Ruth. Debbie enjoys the way that Ruth licks her lips automatically, the way her eyes dilate a fraction. She can turn Ruth on very easily, Debbie realizes. 

“Well. It would have been more fun if we’d… if I was climbing in through your window.”

Ruth snorts. “So to speak. Also, you’d never have done that and risked your clothes.” Debbie’s about to tell her to shut up, or kiss her, she can’t decide. Ruth smirks at her “Besides, are you saying that you haven’t been enjoying all these opportunities to yell at me and throw me around?”

Debbie rolls her eyes, and drags her fingertips up Ruth thigh almost absentmindedly, just because she knows that Ruth will find it harder to answer back.

“God” she mutters, watching the flush build on Ruth’s cheeks, “job satisfaction is when your role overlaps with your kinks.”

Ruth’s legs move slightly, but other than that she doesn’t react, and her voice is annoyingly steady.

“I'm just going to view these last four months as really intense and elaborate foreplay…”  
Debbie bites at the inside of her cheek again, this time to cut off a laugh.

“Will you just stop joking, god you’re relentless-”

“What only you are allowed to joke?”

“I am not joking-”

“You were just talking about kinks for god’s sake-”

It's at this point that Debbie covers Ruth's mouth with her own, and simultaneously sends her hand higher, to where she really wants to be, and cups Ruth through the thin material of her panties. Ruth moans into her mouth, and Debbie claims a victory.

Debbie presses her breasts down into Ruth’s, just because it feels so fucking good, and then breaks the kiss to whisper into her ear, her lips just grazing at Ruth’s earlobe.

'You're not expecting me to just pretend I haven't wanted to do this for a long time, are you?'

Ruth’s hands are under her top now, and oh god, it feels too good. Ruth's eyes close, and she moans again, as regular as a heartbeat. Debbie bites at her earlobe this time, before taking it between her lips and sucking, once. Ruth cants her hips forward, seeking a more persistent pressure from Debbie's fingers, but Debbie denies her.

Ruth huffs slightly, and then tries to speak, but Debbie isn’t particularly interested in what she has to say, and kisses her. Ruth laughs, and twists her head away, determined to get her words out, even as Debbie groans. 

"But we did this not that long ago-"

"They don't count" Debbie says shortly, and she means it. "Florian interrupted us before we could get anywhere, and the other time, after the show,… that was more like an argument with no clothes. That… I mean, it felt good, but, not-”

Ruth nods, and then her eyes widen slightly when Debbie presses her fingers into the front of Ruth's panties, just to remind Ruth that this isn’t just a conversation.

"God- I mean, I came so hard. But emotionally, however-“

Debbie laughs again, despite herself.

“Are you saying that you didn’t come on an _emotional level?_ ”

Ruth nods, and Debbie doesn’t understand how it is possible for her to be this aroused and yet borderline annoyed because _god she’s such a nerd_.

“Exactly. I am emotionally lacking in an orgasm.”

Debbie drops her head down, and bites at her shoulder. 

“Can we just… is there some kind of magic word I can say that will make you stop talking?”

Ruth shrugs, and Debbie just _knows_ that she’s grinning, even though she can’t see her face. 

“I thought you enjoyed my running commentary, I thought you found it charmi- _oh_.

Maybe not a magic word, but flexing two fingers against Ruth’s panties seems to do the trick. She’s wet. Debbie swears.

“Fuck… please stop talking, and just… take off all your clothes.”

….

Unsurprisingly, Ruth can’t quite manage to be so relentlessly articulate when Debbie’s mouth is between her legs.

Her knees ache, and from her position next to the bed there’s no comfort from the cheap carpet. She kneels in front of the bed, kneels in front of Ruth, and there’s no comfort to be found for the bare skin of her knees.

But she doesn’t feel it. 

She can only feel the motion of Ruth against her mouth, the restless rhythm with which Ruth rides up against her. She can only feel the tightness of Ruth’s tits beneath her palms, and the sheen of sweat providing a counterpoint to the friction. She can only feel the weight of Ruth’s legs over her shoulders, the heels digging in every time Ruth reaches a new peak. She can only feel the urgency of Ruth’s hands on the back of her head, holding on to Debbie as though Ruth’s still worried she might leave. 

She can only feel the taste, and the sound, and the smell, and the sight, of Ruth, of Ruth…

When the orgasm hits, Ruth’s body bows, and strains upwards towards the ceiling. Debbie doesn’t stop, working her mouth and tongue for long moments, until Ruth’s thighs are trembling and she’s feebly pushing Debbie away rather than drawing her close. 

Debbie crawls up Ruth’s body, and she doesn't say it. Ruth pulls her down closer, and Debbie kisses her with so much pent up unsaid, she thinks her heart might explode. 

Ruth kisses at her lips, and then just sighs, resting her forehead against Debbie’s own. Debbie finds herself fighting off tears, and turns her head away, allowing herself to relax against Ruth. Ruth’s hands stroke gently over her skin. 

“We’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.”

Ruth says this, as she kisses at Debbie’s cheek, and neck. Ruth says this, as her hand slips between Debbie’s legs. 

Debbie rides up into the pressure, and doesn’t say it. Doesn’t say anything. 

_Maybe_ she thinks, as Ruth’s fingers circle, and press. _Maybe_.

But she’ll let herself believe it, just for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert gif of that tiny dragon from Mulan being all 'I LIIIIIIIIIVE'
> 
> So yeah, life is currently taking a battering. I'm a sea tossed tiny row boat guys. I have lost contact with land.
> 
> Via your various lovely and encouraging comments, combined with the cast filming season 2, I have managed to drag myself from the abyss. Although I am currently mega side-eyeing myself because WHY THE FUCK DID I INCLUDED A POTENTIAL CUSTODY BATTLE???? EXCUSE ME WHILST I CATAPULT MARK FROM THIS UNIVERSE etc.
> 
> THINGS WHICH HAVEN'T HELPED MY WRITERS BLOCK; A SHORT LIST.
> 
> The Good Place being A Good Show.
> 
> Betty bloody Gilpin being literally the most elusive of ALL THE POKEMON. BETTY PLEASE USE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA MORE, THE ODD LIKED TWEET HERE AND THERE IS NOT INSPIRING MY TYPING FINGERS. I AM SURVIVING ON CRUMBS HERE.
> 
> SERIOUSLY BETTY I'M NOT KIDDING. A BTS PHOTO IS ALL I'M ASKING. A NEW BOOB SIZE ANALOGY. ANYTHING.
> 
> The rest of my ridiculous life.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you liked reading this. please throw me a motivation or two (if we are going to be specific, I'm going to need a Debbie x Ruth fan vid to 'Future Friends' by Super Fruit like, yesterday.)
> 
> ALSO PATIOS CAN SUCK MY WRITERLY DICK.


	30. A Lot To Wake Up To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haaaa I don't even know. I had to re-read my own story to remember where I'd left things, so good luck everyone, and hello, void.

Chapter Thirty

 

This is the second day in a row that she’s woken up in Debbie’s bed. Ruth is going to have to concentrate pretty hard on not building up her hopes of a routine. 

There’s an ache running through her body, an unneeded reminder of their activities. Ruth is never going to forget. She doesn’t even know what time they fell asleep, but time hadn’t seemed to matter, not after the third orgasm. 

It’s intoxicating, the amount of _new_ that their reworked relationship is revealing about Debbie. Ruth had known Debbie well before, but they'd been friends for long enough that Debbie no longer surprised Ruth. Ruth could always have a pretty good guess at how Debbie would react to situations, or what jokes would make Debbie laugh. 

This… bedroom knowledge though, Ruth can’t get enough. 

Debbie has two distinct types of moans. One for when she’s turned on by what she’s doing _to Ruth_ , and one for when she’s turned on by what Ruth is doing _to her._

And Debbie has a birthmark, just to the left of her hip bone, that Ruth had never seen before. Ruth spent long moments last night, kissing at that spot, whilst Debbie groaned above her and swore at her for being a tease.

Ruth smiles at the memory, and then feels a flush of arousal course through her, because she’s now a teenage boy, apparently. She’s naked, this awakening.

Debbie is lying next to her, half wrapped in a white sheet. She sleeps on her stomach, and Ruth doesn’t know if this is every night or just this night. There’s a peculiar thrill, in thinking that she might soon find out. 

Ruth can’t tell if Debbie’s still truly asleep, so she runs her hand gently down her back. It’s selfish, but Ruth has never claimed to be anything other than selfish, not if she’s honest with herself. Debbie’s eyes flicker open, and she can’t have been that deeply asleep, Ruth excuses herself. 

Debbie stretches slightly and then mumbles “What time is it?” Her voice is croaky, and altogether indecent.

“Not sure.” Ruth replies, honestly. Debbie blinks some more, and then rubs a hand over her eyes. 

“Is it, do we have to be somewhere? God, I can’t even remember- we’re supposed to be training today, I think?”

“Yeah…. do you want to know the time? ‘Cause… if we knew the time then we might have to get out of bed.” 

Debbie rolls her eyes at that, but she’s more awake now, and there’s a smirk there as well, half hidden by the pillow. Ruth is struck at how… not weird this is? Waking up naked with your best (?) friend (?) should feel weird, she thinks, trying to reflect on the situation rationally. This just feels…right. 

“This isn’t… I mean, do you feel weird? This should feel weird, but it feels… really not weird. Like this is has been happening forever and there’s nothing to feel weird about, even though, ha, I’m pretty sure we should be, knee deep in weird, right now.”

After a moment, Debbie snorts, and then shifts onto her side, observing Ruth. 

“Wow, what was that… unconscious to inarticulate in under ten seconds?”

Ruth shrugs, and then tries to look at Debbie without being distracted.

“Oh, is this how it is now? You mocking me forever? And I would be more articulate if you were… more clothed, so, you know. Jokes on you, or something.”

Debbie grins easily at her, and then says “Well, maybe you could just reflect on how weird it is to not be feeling weird, would that help you out?”

“No” says Ruth, truculently, and then reaches out to rearrange Debbie’s sheet, primly covering up her breasts, which are… well, it’s a lot to wake up to, and Ruth has a nagging suspicion that they’re already significantly late. 

“We should… where is your watch? I think we’re probably late.”

Debbie takes a cursory glance around, but then straddles Ruth, in an extremely naked way. Ruth goes still. Debbie maintains a half ridiculous premise of looking for her watch on the cabinet next to Ruth’s side of the bed, before glancing down at her. Debbie’s mouth twitches slightly, as though she is fighting not to laugh.

“Do you still need me to be more clothed?”

Ruth swallows, and then swallows again when Debbie flexes her hips in a way that would seem inadvertent, were it not for the fire burning in her eyes.

“Well, that would depend on the capacity in which you expect me to proceed. If you need me to be more articulate, or um, find your watch, then this is not going to be helpful.”

Debbie cocks her head sideways, and grins.

“Your bedroom talk is really something, huh?”

Ruth can’t think of an answer to that, and her brain just shrugs and shuts down, when Debbie rocks down into her again, slow and deliberate. Ruth manages not to moan, but only by biting her lip. Her hands reach for Debbie’s hips, on autopilot. Debbie stretches for a hair tie on the side table, and Ruth honestly doesn’t know how she is still alive. Debbie ties her hair back with quick, efficient movements, and then leans forward, to rest her hands on Ruth’s shoulders as she moves on top of Ruth, and god, _oh god_ …

“Maybe no talking for a while, okay?” Debbie means for it to come out all smooth and disinterested, but Ruth catches the hitch in her voice, and she can’t help but smile, even if it gets interrupted by a gasp.

“We are going to be late” she manages, but she can _feel_ Debbie now, and since when is time keeping important anyway? Sam disappeared for three days, they can have a morning, surely?

Debbie half laughs at that, and then runs her fingers down to Ruth’s breasts.

“What a shame.”

…..

“Holy shit look who managed to appear. Did you get lost?”

It’s impressive, the way that Debbie manages to dismiss Melrose with her middle finger, without even _looking_ at her. Ruth’s already too far gone to have any capacity to feel anything more for Debbie, but she thinks that she would be hurtling towards a crash, just witnessing her flip Melrose off, walking past her as though she’s on the goddamn catwalk. 

The gym comes to a not very subtle stand still, at the sight of Ruth and Debbie appearing together. Artie drops a medicine ball. Stacey somehow misses the wall that she was going to run into.

Debbie is setting the tone, casually depositing her gym bag on one of the bleachers and removing her sweater. Ruth struggles to maintain the same demeanour, trying to tug her sneaker onto her foot more securely. She just ends up hopping around a little bit, and quickly halts. 

Debbie rolls her neck a couple of times, and then stretches her arms up over her head. Ruth is presented with a not unwelcome (but certainly entirely inconvenient) memory of Debbie stretching her arms above her head earlier this morning, naked. 

_This is how life is going to be from now on_ her treacherous brain informs her _Plagued by memories of Debbie’s breasts_. The thought nearly causes a bubble of nervous laughter to escape her, but she bites her lip hard, and manages to repress it.

When Debbie can’t ignore the blossoming silence any more, she looks around the gym, as though she is utterly devoid of any fucks. Sam emerges from the office, and looks down at them blankly, hands on hips. Debbie raises her eyebrows at him. Someone coughs. 

Ruth can’t take it, she’s actually going to turn inside out.

“Hi!”

Sam glances once at her, and then looks at his wrist watch.

“Glad you could make it. Can you do some wrestling now?”

It’s a statement heavy with sarcasm, and there’s a momentary flicker that passes across Sam’s face. Ruth can tell that he is fighting the urge to make a supplementary comment, about the sorts of wrestling he suspects they have been doing earlier. He doesn’t say anything however, and Debbie shrugs. 

“Sure. We’ve half a routine worked out already.”

Sam gives that a thumbs up, and gestures at them both in a way that seems to say “please do whatever the fuck you want just don’t make me talk about this any more.”

Cherry clears her throat, and is about to say something, but then Melrose comes striding over, looking outraged. 

“Whoa, whoa, I’m sorry, if I’m ten minutes late I’m some kind of plague on society and need some fucking alibi witnesses, but these two can rock up in _the goddamn afternoon_ and that’s all fine? Where the fuck have you been?”

Suddenly several people start speaking at once, and none of them are Ruth or Debbie.

“That’s not our business-“

“God Melrose, it was probably just a Randy thing-“

“They’re here now, so-“

“They’re the goddamn stars Melrose, you never heard of job perks…?”

Melrose holds up her hands, and makes a face at the room.

“No, okay, sure, _Debbie_ gets to do whatever she wants, but Ruth has never missed a fucking _second_ of training, so…What in the actual fuck is going on here? Were you two fighting again? Because, shit, if you guys start that again and the show collapses then we all have a problem, you know what I’m saying?”

Ruth gazes around at the room, and suddenly realizes, oh fuck, of course they all know. They all know already, it can’t have been that hard to figure out. That’s why they’re all trying to pretend nothing is going on. It’s just Melrose who’s in the dark. 

This time the half laugh does escape her, and Ruth covers her mouth, before looking at Debbie. Debbie’s eyebrows have never been higher, but from the way she looks at Ruth it’s obvious that she’s just come to the same conclusion. 

“Oh jesus” Debbie mumbles and then her eyes are checking for permission, and god, since when has Ruth given a fuck? She shrugs.

Debbie turns back to Melrose. 

“We weren’t fighting.”

Melrose looks at her in disbelief.

“Well excuse me if that isn’t enough of an explanation, because I cannot-“

“We were in bed together.”

Melrose stops. Ruth feels her own shoulders quake with repressed laughter. Debbie smiles brightly at Melrose. 

“We’re sleeping together. It’s all pretty new, so we took some time to figure ourselves out this morning. And, FYI, if you tell Mark, I will throw you under a goddamn train.” 

Over Melrose’s shoulder, Ruth watches as Carmen presses both her palms to her cheeks, and then just _beams_ at the ceiling. Rhonda is grinning, and bounces once onto her tiptoes and down again. Reggie holds up her palm and Jenny meets the high five with the back of her hand, never once taking her eyes from Debbie. 

From above, Sam says ‘Jesus christ I need a drink.”

Melrose holds up a hand. 

“Wait.”

She stops again, and then her jaw falls open. 

“You-“ she points at the two of them. And then she stops again, drops her hand, and tilts her head to one side. 

“That actually makes a lot of sense” she says, musingly. “That actually explains a _lot_ of the really gay shit you two kept pulling…”

Debbie snorts at her, and just like that the spell is broken, and Ruth can’t actually fight the laughter this time, and so doesn’t even try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? what? So I wanted to write Debbie as happy for once? YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?
> 
> Shit, don't even look at me. Is anyone even reading this still? Has Glow season 2 arrived yet? Has Betty remembered her twitter password yet?
> 
> *glares at all your patios*


	31. Character Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody panic but yes I did write another chapter.

It turns out that Debbie doesn’t much care for having secrets. 

The relief that she feels when she tells the girls that her and Ruth are… a thing? A something? God knows. A thing more than ex-best friends who are now wrestling partners? Anyway. The relief that she felt in the gym in that moment - it was like taking off the bra on her _soul._

Debbie snorts at herself, and then giggles a little bit, before pulling herself together and making an effort to fully concentrate on her makeup. She’s sitting at her old dressing table, at her Mom and Randy’s house. This isn’t the house that she grew up in, but when her Mom moved into this one she’d transported all of Debbie’s old furniture into the spare bedroom. It was like a time capsule to Debbie’s teenage years. She’s pretty sure that if she checked the bottom drawers of her dresser she’d find the love letters sent from that boy from summer camp… what was his name? Mitch? Doesn’t really matter, although he had been the first boy she’d let feel her tits, that summer when they’d really just fucking ballooned on her chest, so Debbie thought that he probably counted for something.

Randy gurgles on the bed behind her, and he’s a perfect reminder of the fact that she isn’t a teenager anymore. Debbie looks around at him, and he smiles at her, and then wiggles around in his carry seat like the little wigglebutt that he is. 

This room… it was like her mom had been telling Debbie that she had somewhere to go. _You can always come back, you know? You’ll always have an escape route._

Debbie makes a mental note that she actually needs to tell her mom that she loves her, and maybe plan some kind of mother daughter day, because as much as Debbie likes to pretend that her mom is the most frustrating woman in the world… well. 

Although that day will not be today, not when she is running late again. 

“Come on then wigglebutt, let’s go see the girls…”

It’s crazy, how happy she is. Just at the idea of going to train, going to see the girls, going to see Ruth…

Debbie’s not used to being happy. The emotion has been appearing in sharp spikes, in the week since she and Ruth turned up together and fucking _blew Melrose’s mind._

Happiness. Who knew? Debbie has found herself grinning at cashiers as though they are long lost friends. She has bestowed delighted laughs on Ron after he makes the same lame joke he always makes about Randy’s baby-gro. Ron has been staring at Debbie as though she is an apparition, while Debbie clamps her lips together to try and repress the giggles.

Debbie half jogs down the stairs because _late late late_ , but there’s her mom, trying to halt her exit as Debbie juggles the artefacts of her life by the front door. Randy is wriggling in her arms, and Debbie has her car keys clamped between her lips as she tries to find her purse in her bag. 

“Darling, you really do need to talk to him…”

Debbie shrugs eloquently with half an elbow, which is about as much communication as is available to her at this moment. Her mom reaches out to her, and plucks the keys from her mouth. She continues. 

“I’m not saying this to support Mark, you understand. I’m saying it because you will be happier when all of this is settled.”

Debbie winces, because her mom is right. It’s just that, well, she’s been busy, but always because Debbie has never been very good at facing up to the difficult but necessary. Hell, her nearly four year marriage to Mark is a testament to her ability to defer just one difficult conversation indefinitely. 

Sighing, Debbie leans over to her mom, and kisses her on the cheek impulsively.

“But I am happy, Mom.”

Her mom smiles fondly at her, and tucks Randy’s hat a little more securely onto his head, as he gurgles to himself.

“I can see that Debs, and it is wonderful to see, honestly. But you can’t avoid Mark forever. There’s got to be some kind of resolution, if you are trying for any kind of permanent happiness.”

Permanent happiness. Now there’s a concept.

…

Of course, Debbie is late for training, but not in a way that is later that any of the other numerous times that she has been late for training in the past, so…

Randy now has thirteen available baby-sitters at the gym, all of whom he is perfectly content with, and Debbie would be lying if she said this made hadn’t her life one hundred percent easier. Debbie can actually train whilst Randy is here now, rather than low level panic that he’d going to start screaming and make her drop whoever she is supposed to be throwing. 

Tammé is always first to offer, but usually all the girls take a turn. Reggie has settled on an idea that she can just talk to Randy about anything as long as it is delivered with eye contact and a lilting tone of voice. A couple of days ago Debbie overheard Reggie ponderously talking Randy through the finer points of javelin throwing technique, whilst her son stared up at her with wide, perplexed eyes. Debbie had needed to visit the changing rooms just to avoid cracking up. 

Even Melrose takes a turn of paying Randy some attention now and then, although usually with Rhonda next to her. Melrose even started reading some of the fairy tales book that she found in Randy’s bag aloud, although in usual Melrose style.

“And then, you’re not going to believe this kid, Little Red Riding Hood failed to notice that her grandmother had grown, like, a full face of hair, and she said ‘My, grandma, what big teeth you have’, although if Shelia is anything to go on there was probably also a serious halitosis issue that could be commented upon… say, Shelia, is this book about your grandma?”

“No, Melrose, that’s the wolf in the bed, not the grandma, have you not been reading it right?”

“Yeah, I understand that, but I thought you were an actual wolf?” 

“I’m not related to every wolf in a fairy tale, that’s practically racist.”

“Species-ist, surely? Is that a word?”

“Just read the story Melrose. Next time do the one about bears, stop bugging me with your wolf discourse.”

And Randy had just stared, and stared…

And then there’s Ruth, there’s always Ruth.

Debbie can’t even deal with the way that her heart just lifts, just from seeing her. Even if she is in that godawful aerobics class leotard again, christ, the first opportunity Debbie gets she is going to burn that thing.

Ruth smiles at Debbie, and this is the new normal now. Debbie can smile back. They can both remember a couple of nights ago, when Debbie had gone down on Ruth until Ruth had begged her to stop, and they can still smile, and the world doesn’t come crashing down. 

It’s amazing.

“Hey you.”

Debbie smiles softly at her, and then puts Randy’s carry chair down. Ruth switches all of her attention to Randy, as Debbie sorts out the rest of Randy’s paraphernalia, and extracts him from his chair easily.

“And how are you, you little sprout? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days…”

Debbie glances over at Ruth, who is holding Randy up in the air, and Randy is gurgling, obviously delighted with the fuss. Debbie feels… god. A lot. 

“He’s still not a vegetable Ruth.”

“Not with that kind of attitude you aren’t, are you? Hey? Little turnip? Sweet potato?”

Ruth has taken to calling Randy different types of vegetables. God only knows why. It just seems to be how things are. Debbie has a suspicion that Ruth is only doing it because she knows that Debbie will say something about it.

“You… okay. Call him what you want.”

Ruth glances at her, and there’s a smile playing around her lips. Then she turns her attention back to Randy.

“Ooh, your mom is dabbling in reverse psychology now, how exciting…”

Debbie actually laughs at that, and then she can’t help but beam at them both, Ruth holding Randy in her arms, bouncing him up and down. Because there’s a future there, calling to her, and it is so close she can almost touch it.

“Will you stop…”

“Being a shit?” Ruth grins at her.

Debbie rolls her eyes, and then nods. Then a thought strikes her, and she clears her throat awkwardly.

“Um, and actually, I think that Randy is getting close to… I mean, his gurgles are sounding more uh, meaningful, now, so I was wondering whether you could, uh. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but-”

Understanding dawns on Ruth’s face, and then she laughs delightedly.

“Oh my… gosh, what is this character development Debbie Eagan? Yes, of course I can stop swearing in front of him.”

Debbie scoffs a little, and then stands up, straightening out her clothes awkwardly. 

“Well, uh. Yes. Also, side bar; you’re annoying.”

Ruth grins at her, and then moves a little closer, still jiggling Randy in her arms.

“And yes, it would be my honor to announce this new anti-swearing stance at the morning briefing.”

Debbie takes a step towards her, and then murmurs “still annoying”, before kissing her once, on the lips.

That’s another thing, the way that they can be physically close in front of people, while they are at training. Not anything excessive, but just the freedom to be able to kiss Ruth when she is holding Randy because Debbie _wants_ to is a joy. Debbie remembers some of the pressure, the constant internal pressure she felt like she was dragging around, for all those years. Debbie wonders how much of it would have been eased if she could just have kissed Ruth when she wanted to. 

Ruth kisses her back for a moment, and then Debbie just stays next to her, tucking some of Ruth’s hair behind her ear and smiling at her.

A chorus of _awwws_ makes Debbie look around, and Jenny, Arthie, Dawn, and Stacey are all googly eyed at them, clutching their hands to their chests. Jenny mimes wiping away some tears.

“Guys, you’re too cute, honestly I might die.”

At this point Melrose just calls _‘gaaaaaaay’_ across the training hall, but there’s no time to react to that because Sam has appeared, striding past them on his way to the usual spot of bleachers for the morning run through. 

“Come on then ladies, let’s do this. Thelma and Louise, are you joining us, or eloping?”

Ruth snorts at that, but hands Randy over Debbie easily, and after a moment they both join the rest of the girls on the bleachers.

“Which one of us is Louise?” Ruth asks Sam, as she sits down.

Around ten voices answer, with complete certainty.

“Debbie.”

Debbie stops in her tracks, and glares at them all. But then she considers, and nods.

“Okay, fair” she says as she sits down, and that raises a laugh. Cherry leans forward, and rubs her shoulder affectionately.

Debbie can’t believe a lot of things that are happening in her life currently, but the fact that this bunch of complete weirdos are now collectively her found family? That’s got to be up there.

….

Astonishingly, Sam actually has a plan.

He talks them through the various fights, and the storylines behind the fights. He’s generous with Ruth’s ideas, given her full credit as he hands out scripts for the sketches between the fights.

“Of course, a lot of this is just… I mean, you can improv. I just need you to all be your weirdo wrestling selves. But yeah, we actually have a budget from the network, so I can hire a bus, and so we’ll start with Ruth’s amazing coach tour idea, if you have a look at page three…”

Sam has been on his own personal journey, Debbie realizes. Granted, he’s still a massive fuck up in many ways, but at least he doesn’t hate all of them any more. He doesn’t hate that he’s working on a wrestling show.

The second episode is all laid out for them, in their hands. The routines are already half in place, which is great because the wrestling show is due to be filmed in a week’s time. Sam wants them to get half of the sketches in the can in the next couple of days because he wants to play them to the crowd in-between fights, so the crowd understand the narrative as well. 

It’s bordering on professional, and Debbie can tell that Sam is trying really hard not to look proud of himself.

They end up playing around with the coach tour sketch for the next few hours. Debbie is handed a rolled up piece of cardboard and encourage to use it like a megaphone. She waves expansively at non-existent sights and spouts non-sensical facts about them.

“That is a swimming pool, and did you know that swimming was invented in 1643 by Danny Devito?”

Sam guffaws at her regularly, and writes down anything she says that is really good. The rest of the girls shout back nonsense as their characters, and the whole thing is just fun. Debbie’s enjoying herself. Ruth is trying to look like Zoya, but keeps breaking character and laughing whenever Debbie teaches them all another fact.

“Those are tomatoes, and tomatoes were invented by Cabbage Patch Kids in 1812. They stand for freedom, and pizza.”

In fact, Debbie is having so much fun, that it takes her a second to notice that the girls have abruptly stopped laughing. Debbie turns around.

Oh fuck, and of course Mark is standing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I have spent a LONG ASS TIME writing about Debbie and Ruth not being on the same page and DEAR GOD that shit was emotionally exhausting. 
> 
> But now, THIRTY CHAPTERS AND SEVENTY SIX THOUSAND WORDS LATER, I have got them into a position in which they can be legitimately happy in each others company without them needing to have a mental breakdown afterwards.
> 
> DID YOU THINK THAT I WASN'T GOING TO WRITE THEM AS BEING AS CUTE AS SHIT? WELL JOKES ON YOU.
> 
> This is the promised land that I was working towards. I've done it guys. I'm successfully manoeuvred all the chess pieces until Ruth and Debbie like each other. I've fucking organised that Rubix cube of feelings and NOW ALL IS WELL.
> 
> (LOL BARRING MARK BUT YOU THINK I'M GOING TO LET THAT HOLD ME UP?)
> 
> (ALSO LOL YES I SUPPOSE THEY DO NEED TO HAVE A FULL AND FRANK CONVERSATION ABOUT WHY RUTH SLEPT WITH MARK BUT YOU THINK I CAN'T HANDLE THAT? SMALL FRY) 
> 
> SIDE NOTE- Yes, for those of you who pay attention to my fandom wanderings, I did straight up steal Liberty Bell's invented facts from Grace Helbig's early cooking tutorials. You're welcome.
> 
> ANOTHER SIDE NOTE- I just googled Thelma and Louise and gosh darn it if that movie isn't due to exist for another six years. Well, whatever. You guys aren't here for the time line accuracy.
> 
> FURTHER SIDE NOTE - Actually, I don't even need to say it. You all know.


	32. Ridiculous Charade

Just like that, Debbie’s about two feet tall. 

She hasn’t seen him since the parking lot argument. Since all of that humiliation. It can only have been a couple of weeks, but. 

It feels a life time. 

It’s Sam who speaks first. 

“Uh, buddy. This is a private rehearsal.”

Mark looks… abject, is the only word Debbie can use. Randy makes a sudden noise at the end of Sam’s sentence, and Mark looks at him, with a kind of hopeless longing that actually makes her heart stop.

He’s a bastard, Debbie reminds herself firmly. He… he cheated on me, and then… he yelled at me, and then he filed for custody of Randy… 

That thought process stutters to a halt when Mark’s eyes fill with tears at the sight of Randy, and then Debbie doesn’t know any more.

Mark sighs heavily, and then looks at her. 

‘Can I say hi to him? I haven’t seen him for… can I say hi?”

Debbie doesn’t actually know, and finds herself looking around at Ruth for support. Ruth shrugs slightly, and Debbie realises that she can’t expect Ruth to help her out on this decision, this one is all Debbie’s. 

“Sure.”

Mark looks at her for a moment, and then approaches Randy. Randy recognises him, and sticks his hands out towards Mark’s face. Mark gasps to himself, and then murmurs “hey there little guy, hey there baby.”

Mark’s voice is breaking. Debbie puts her hands on her hips, and half looks around the gym, at a complete loss. The girls are no help, they are just staring at Mark with wide eyes. Cherry, who is closest to Randy, bites the inside of her cheek at the sight of Mark being so gentle, and then looks up at Debbie.

Custody, Debbie manages to remember. Custody of Randy.

“You can’t have Randy. You can’t… christ Mark, you tried to feed him celery.”

Mark glances up at her once, incredulous that Debbie is bringing up the celery again, and Debbie can’t quite believe it either. Celery, your honor? He tried to feed my baby celery?

Randy gurgles again, and Mark switches his attention back to him.

“I’m not… honest to god, I’m not here to argue about celery.”

Debbie drops her hands to her sides, completely at a loss.

“Well, what are you here to argue about? Are you here to call wrestling silly again, or…”

She _nearly_ says ‘try and fuck Ruth again’, but thankfully manages to shut those words inside her mouth. This isn’t about that. It’s never been about that.

Debbie turns to look at Ruth, and maybe Ruth can read her mind, or guess what Debbie’s sentence was going to be, because she looks away from Debbie, down at the floor. 

And Debbie feels… oh god, now that anger has come back, and is it remorselessly flooding her system. Because Ruth fucked Mark. She did that, and they still haven’t talked about it, and-

Mark speaks again.

“So I’ve been talking to my mother.”

That’s enough of a sideways remark to drag Debbie back to the here and now. She blinks several times.

“Oh. Uh. Is she well?”

Mark shrugs. 

“So so. Her hip has been playing up again.”

This is… Debbie’s in the twilight zone. She has to make small talk about her fucking husband’s mom’s hip?

“I’m… sorry to hear that.”

Mark straightens up, though his gaze is still fully on Randy.

“Well, you know, the doctor gives her pills, she seems to like them… anyway, I’ve been talking to mom, and I’ve decided to reverse the custody application. Here-”

He pulls some papers out of his pocket, and hands them to her. Debbie looks at them, and tries for half a second to understand them, but…there’s too much happening in her head, and she hasn’t got a chance. She looks around for help.

Cherry stands, and plucks them out of her hand. Cherry frowns at them, and then passes the papers on to Carmen, who passes them further back. Eventually, after some protracted shuffling, they end up in Arthie’s hands, who seems to have been silently declared ‘most intelligent’. Arthie reads them carefully, and after a moment, Sam comes shuffling over to her, and reads them over her shoulder.

If Mark has anything to say about this collective mis-trust, he wisely doesn’t vocalize it. He clears his throat.

“You see, my mom’s right, she’s always right. I’m not in a position to be raising Randy single-handedly. And, um. She yelled at me for messing up our marriage…”

Debbie has to close her eyes to avoid laughing for a moment, because Mark’s mom is about four foot nothing, but Mark is scared of her like no-one else on this earth. She bites her lip.

“You didn’t- I mean, yeah, you aren’t innocent, but you weren’t the only problem in our marriage.”

Mark nods his head, as though acknowledging this concession on Debbie’s part, and then continues with a shrug.

“Well. My mom said that it sounded like you, I don’t know, could benefit from the wrestling. Said I should be grateful that you had somewhere to funnel the anger, otherwise you probably have even more to take out on me.”

Debbie grunts in agreement, and then says “Ha, well, your mom always was smart.”

Mark smiles wryly at her, and shuffles on his feet. “I think she saw the show, when it aired” he says. “I mentioned it to her. She said that if her hip wasn’t acting up she’d take up wrestling as well. She said… she said that you were really good.” Mark looks past her, and gestures slightly at the girls. “You all were. I’m… it didn’t look silly, I was just- I wasn’t in a good place. It looked really good. I’m sorry I said it looked pathetic.”

Debbie turns slightly on her heel to see how this critical acclaim is received. Some of the girls nod cautiously in acknowledgement. Rhonda tips her head to one side and says “Thank you.” 

Arthie looks up from the papers. “These, um. This looks legitimate. It is a withdrawal of custody application, as far as I can make out.”

Mark shrugs, when Debbie turns back to him.

“So, I was hoping… I mean, on your terms, I know I’m in no position to ask for anything, but. Maybe every other weekend? He could stay with me? I’d like that. My mom will help, and you know… watch out for any celery.”

Debbie doesn’t know what to say, so says the first thing she can think of.

“Why are you being so reasonable?”

“Because…” Mark sighs heavily at this point, and rubs a hand across his face. Debbie can recognize the signs of someone saying something they thought they’d never say in their lifetime. “Because it’s my fault. All of it. I knew… I knew you didn’t really love me, and I still married you. Because I couldn’t believe my luck, and so I took advantage of… whatever crisis you had going on with Ruth.”

It’s like the worst, most cataclysmically timed front bump ever. Debbie actually puts her hand to her chest, actually feels winded. 

Ruth speaks, and Debbie is almost startled to remember that she is there. “You…”

Mark looks at her, and Debbie feels a tornado of emotions, because on one hand she can’t deal with Mark looking at Ruth, but on the other hand she can’t deal with Ruth speaking to Mark, and- 

“What, I knew that you were never in Europe? Yeah, I figured. I’m not actually dumb. I thought you… well, I just knew that suddenly Debbie was ready to get married. And I, stupid really, I thought that I could make you happy.” Mark returns his gaze to Debbie, and Debbie bites her lip. Mark smiles sadly at her, and then shrugs. 

“But you were never happy, not with me. And I hoped that eventually, but… nope.” 

Debbie’s throat is blocked, she can barely choke out the words.

“So, you slept with Ruth because…?”

Mark grimaces, and then looks down at the floor. 

“I’m not proud of it. But, I wanted… god I wanted you to… _see_ me again. See me as a man, not just this fucking, irritation in your life. Have a real reaction from you. And I was pissed, and lonely, and acting out, and _christ_ I knew Ruth would be the most effective way to hurt you. Because I knew- I _knew_ , Debbie. I knew what you wanted from life, and I knew who. And it wasn’t me. It was never me.”

At this point Ruth makes an indescribable noise. She gets up, and walks away, into the locker rooms. Debbie watches her go, because for once, just this once, Mark is actually more important. 

Mark looks like he comes to his senses at this point, and gestures at little at all the girls behind Debbie.

“Gee, I’m sorry, making you do this in public, do you want to go somewhere…”

“And talk about it?” Debbie says with a wry smile, remembering. She rolls her eyes, and then waggles her hands at them.

“No, they’re, fuck knows. My sisters, or something new age. Sam’s my uncle. I don’t know.”

Mark smiles cautiously at her, and then says to Sam “Buddy, I’m sorry I laid you out.”

Sam makes a non-committal noise, and it helps that Sam sounds exactly the same, even though the world is now entirely different.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, I was just… you know, I was hamming it up for the crowd.”

This draws something of a wave of sarcastic murmurs from the girls. Reggie mimes punching herself in the face, and goes spectacularly cross-eyed. Debbie remembers how resentful she had been of the girls witnessing the argument in the parking lot. Now she thinks she’d be resentful if they weren’t here, for some reason.

Debbie looks back at Mark, and then Randy gurgles, calling her attention back to the matter at hand. She sighs, and smiles cautiously.

“I think we could work with every other weekend. Um. As a… starting point, to see how things …work out.” Her body adds several involuntary hand gestures at this point, as though she is making an invisible balloon animal.

Mark nods a few times, looking at Randy as though looking anywhere else would be too difficult.

“Could I… hold him?”

Debbie nods, and then Mark is extracting Randy from his chair, whilst Randy wriggles around delightedly. Mark kisses the top of his head a few times, and then glances at Debbie. 

“The marriage wasn’t all shit, was it?” he asks cautiously, and Debbie suddenly feels guilty, for putting Mark through such a ridiculous charade of a marriage. She laughs nervously.

“Well, no, we did make this little one.” 

Mark smiles at her, and then speaks to Randy in that same baby voice that he always uses. “Yeah, you see. You’ve made it all worth it…”

Debbie approaches, cautiously. Mark kisses Randy one more, and then hands him over to her. He's warm in her arms. Mark looks at her, and Debbie finds that the eye contact doesn’t have her flinching away like it use to, as though Mark could read all her secrets if he looked into her eyes for too long.

“I really want you to be happy” he says, sincerely, and a bit more quietly, as though trying to give Debbie some privacy. “So, if you need me to, I don’t know. You and Ruth, you… you two should really…”

Debbie nearly bursts into tears when she realises what he is saying, but bites down hard on the inside of her cheek instead. 

“Yeah, it’s okay Mark. I think we’re half way there anyway.”

Mark nods, and smiles softly at her. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. I mean. And I am sorry. For sleeping with her.”

It’s enough, she decides. She can stop being angry with him over that. There’s no point to it.

“Well, it’s done now, isn’t it. No changing the past.”

Mark nods, and then looks around.

“I’ll go. Sorry for interrupting the training. You should maybe…” Mark glances towards the doors that Ruth disappeared through. Debbie snorts.

“Okay, we’ve come a long way in a short amount of time, but I am not ready to be receiving relationship advice from you.” She grins to show that she is teasing him, but Mark nods at her, seriously.

“Is that what it is? A relationship?”

Debbie… well. She doesn’t even know what her face is doing. “I… maybe. If we can get through this next conversation and out the other side. I mean… I want it to be.” And there’s her sentence. The one that she never thought she’d say in her life.

Mark looks at her for a moment, and then smiles. 

“The wrestling _was_ really good.”

Debbie grins at him, and then laughs, surprised at herself. “Yeah. It was, wasn't it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT? I hear you cry. ANOTHER CHAPTER? 
> 
> Yes. I have reverted back into my other setting of a couple of thousand words a day. Who knows for how long, so we're going to ride this out okay?
> 
> See, although I know I have written Mark as an absolute arsehole earlier, he had just watched his wife basically choose another woman over him and like, fucking wrestle her (And it was the woman who it turns out he always knew was his wife's one true love), so, you know. Cut him some slack. He had a lot going on. He's chilled out now. Processed. He's still a douche, but... not excessively. 
> 
> (This has nothing at all to do with the fact that a prolonged custody appeal was the last thing I wanted to write shh shh.)
> 
> PATIOS! *high pitched shriek of pain*
> 
> Also I have been forgetting to mention this - yotoob.tumblr.com. Come and say hi. I mainly just rave about Betty Gilpin in tags, if that sounds like your idea of a good time.


	33. Public Comfort

For what feels like the longest time afterwards, nobody speaks. Debbie stands, and everyone else sits on the bleachers, and nobody speaks.

Debbie is aware that it is probably her place to speak, her place to set the tone for the necessary reaction to what was _a hell of a lot_ , all at once. But she can’t, she doesn’t know what words are supposed to wrap around the concept of ‘turns out my husband isn’t a complete asshole, and also, surprise! Already knew our whole fucking marriage was a sham.’

It’s probably a concept that will take more than a few sentences. Sam clears his throat, but wisely doesn’t say anything, because there’s no joke that is going to cover this one.

Cherry stands up, and approaches Debbie. Debbie feels as though she half falls into Cherry, and Cherry hugs her.

That helps. It helps. Debbie hides her face in Cherry’s shoulder, and Cherry pats her back a few times. 

“There. It’s done. You’re done.”

Debbie exhales an extremely shuddery breath, and stands there, trying to breath out five years of shit. 

Cherry pats her back a few more times, and just like that, Debbie’s need for public comfort is over. 

“Okay, you can let go of me now.”

Cherry releases her quickly, and says “Oh thank god, that was not coming naturally.”

Debbie snorts, and wipes away, something, it’s nothing, she just had something in her eye.

“Yeah, no, I’m not really a hugger.”

Cherry makes a joking face of disgust, and laughs “No, me neither, that was…”

“Yeah, let’s never do that again.”

Sam clears his throat shortly.

“That was like watching two repelling magnets being forced together.”

Tammé laughs at that, and there’s a general relaxing of the tension. The girls approach Debbie in ones and twos, patting her on the shoulder and cautiously suggesting that that could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Debbie’s inclined to agree, in fact she’s bordering on thunderstruck that Mark found his decency and rationality again. Thank god for Mark’s mom. Debbie had always liked Verity, who was small and terrifying and prone to writing off any idea that she didn’t agree with as ‘Liberal Bullshit’. Verity also had a healthy take on Mark’s competence, or lack of it. Debbie had always guessed that she had an ally in Verity, although she could never have hoped that Verity would come through on such a majestic level. 

Cherry catches her eye, and then catches Sam’s eye. He nods his head, and then says “Okay everyone, go get some lunch. Back here in a hour.”

Before Debbie can compliment Cherry on the way she has managed to comprehensively take all Sam’s power away from him without him even realising, Cherry leans into her.

“So, I’m guessing Ruth is a hugger.”

Ruth. Christ, Debbie had nearly forgotten about Ruth. She sighs heavily.

“Yeah, Ruth is going to need a hug. She’s probably… yeah, she’ll need a hug.”

Cherry nods, as though considering.

“You should go and hug her.”

Debbie bites her lip.

“She… I mean, she slept with… Mark’s reasons almost hang together, although- whatever. But she, I still don’t understand…”

Cherry shrugs. “You’ve got to give her a chance to explain it. And then… if there is no justifiable explanation that you’re satisfied with, you’ve got to decide if you can let it go. Because the two of you can’t be long term happy if you hang on to it. She can’t always be apologetic.”

Sam comes over, trying to look nonchalant. 

“Yeaaah, you and Ruth should take the afternoon off. Go- jeez, I don’t know. I’m not a relationship expert. But your shit has been ruining my show for too long. So just, sort it out, will you? One way or another.”

Debbie rolls her eyes at him. 

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience.”

Sam fumbles in his pockets, and pulls out a cigarette.

“Yeah, well. You’ve got to let someone else have a bad day for once Debbie, it can’t always be about you.”

Debbie raises her eyebrows at him, but he just smiles ruefully and points at her, before lighting the cigarette.

“You know, that doesn’t intimidate me like it used to. Your uncle? Is that what you called me?”

Debbie wrinkles her nose, and then removes the cigarette from Sam’s lips, and takes a drag.

“Yeah…but like, the creepy uncle that everyone hopes will flake out of the family gathering.”

Sam nods, and takes the cigarette when Debbie offers it back. “Yeah, I would, I probably would.”

Debbie bites her lip, and then says “thanks Sam”. And it’s only about the cigarette, but it could be about more. Sam nods, and then points at her. 

“Take the afternoon off.”

Debbie bobs into a mock curtsey, and then Sam is walking away. 

Cherry smiles at her. “Those things are still bad for you.”

Debbie shrugs. “I’m trying to do the good things as well Cherry, jeez.”

…

After everyone has left, Debbie counts up to seventy three, and then heads into the locker rooms.

Maybe they’ll get to move into nicer premises, if the show is a success. Debbie is done with these locker rooms, and their all pervading sense of despair.

Ruth is sitting on one of the benches. Mabubifarti, Debbie remembers, ridiculously. 

Ruth is staring at the wall. She glances once at Debbie, and then goes back to staring at the wall. Her eyes are red from crying. Debbie looks at the wall for a moment, just to see if there is anything particularly interesting going on, before realising she is going to have to speak if she wants this to get started.

“So. Mark’s gone.”

Ruth nods a few times, but doesn’t say anything. Debbie sighs, and then continues.

“It’s, he’s going to have Randy every other weekend. I said that was fine. He’s… Mark’s just… I mean, he’s Randy’s dad, and his mom is sane, so…”

Still nothing. Debbie doesn’t really know what she was expecting, but… Ruth does not look very receptive to a hug right now. Debbie isn’t sure whether she’s relieved about that, but… she had expected to be doing some hugging before, well, possibly getting angry with Ruth all over again for sleeping with Mark. 

In fact, Debbie has no idea what is going on. 

“Uh. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Ruth shrugs, and Debbie is at a complete loss. From Ruth’s body language, if Debbie didn’t know any better, Debbie would think… wait.

“Wait, are you- are you angry?”

Ruth looks at her, holds up both her hands in a gesture of dismissal, and goes back to the wall. Debbie frowns, and puts both her hands on her hips.

“Are you-” Debbie pauses, because she almost can’t believe that she is saying this, “are you angry with _me_?”

Ruth shrugs, rubs her hands over her face, and then suddenly turns on Debbie.

“Yes. Yes I am. Is it only you who is allowed to be angry?”

Debbie can’t figure out how to react, and so her brain, helpfully, decides to laugh.

“Uh, well. You did sleep with my husband, so-”

Ruth stands up, and Debbie takes a step back, startled, because whoa, laughing was not a good choice.

“I know I did _Debbie._ But you… you slept with me. And then you didn’t _call me_. And then you _fucking married Mark, sent me on some fictitious trip to Europe, and fucked us both up for a solid five years whilst you pretended to be happy with Mark and even Mark knew!_ ”

Ruth laughs, slightly hysterically at this point, and then sucks in a deep breath.

“Mark knew, even though he is as dense as a fucking refrigerator, and I was left to think that you hated me, and I spent five _years_ , Debbie. Thinking you hated me, or you were repelled by me, or whatever. So don’t you come at me with bullshit about how I slept with Mark because _you married him_. You married him, and you broke my heart, but gee, all of that is fine I guess, so long as you didn’t have to face up to having a real conversation about your feelings for once in your life!”

At this, Ruth bursts into tears, and sits down again. 

Debbie takes a long moment. 

 

And in what can be described as possibly the most sensible decision of her life, Debbie doesn’t start shouting back.

She goes to sit next to Ruth, who has her face in her hands, doesn’t say anything.

Eventually, Ruth leans towards her, and Debbie puts her arms around her, and Ruth cries into her shoulder, wetting her gym clothes with tears. 

Debbie knows that she needs to say something, but the words don’t really want to line up in her head. 

Finally she gives up on the idea of having a real conversation here, because it is the locker room and it smells bad and she just wants to take Ruth away from this, from all of this. 

“Hey, so. Randy is sleeping in his chair, but I should really go and… and, well. Sam’s given us the afternoon off, so we could- you know. You could come with me, and we could, do whatever you needed. You could yell at me some more, if that helps, or-”

Ruth snorts at that, and Debbie reaches into one of the girl’s bags, and finds a tissue for her. Once Ruth has blown her nose comprehensively twice, she nods, and just like that, Ruth seems good to function half way normally again.

“Okay, yeah. We should go. I don’t want to… god, we need to talk somewhere that is not here.”

…

Debbie drives to her mom’s house.

Ruth must figure out where they are going after about five minutes of driving, but she doesn’t say anything. Randy is asleep in the back. Debbie knows they are on the verge of… _something_. It’s not an argument, but equally it’s not…

Anyway, whatever it is, it’s something that they can’t figure out if Debbie has to check on Randy every two minutes.

As Debbie extracts Randy from the back of the car, Ruth doesn’t make any move to get out. Debbie sighs, and asks heavily “will you come in as well? My mom would love to see you.”

Ruth looks a little like a statue, but her mom is oblivious to all tensions, and so is a whirlwind of delighted surprise to find Ruth next to Debbie on the doorstep.

“Ruth! Oh hello, look at you, I am so _pleased_ that you aren’t a Communist, Debbie has explained all about it, come in, come in, do you still take your coffee black?”

Debbie follows her mom into the kitchen; Ruth is being escorted by the arm, and Debbie can tell that her mom is helping Ruth return to normality, just from the frequency of hugs that are being given. Her mom sets out the cups, and then turns to Debbie.

“Sweetie, can you make it? Now where’s my little grandson, oh, look at him, isn’t he just- oh sorry, shush, shush, silly me.”

“It’s okay Mom, he’s out like a light.” Debbie gets the coffee in motion, and then turns to look at Ruth. She smiles, and Ruth can’t help but smile back, leaning on the counter and watching Debbie’s mom try to silently express her love to the unconscious Randy.

God- it’s just. Every now and then, it hits her again, out of the blue. How she has felt about Ruth for all this time, and now she’s so close, just a few more moments and then-

Debbie clears her throat.

“So- uh, Mom, I spoke to Mark.”

Her mom heaves a sigh of relief, and clutches at her chest. 

“Oh thank heavens, you called him. How did it go?”

“Uh, well, no, he showed up at training. Sam gave us the afternoon off to recover.”

Her mom looks between the both of them, confused and concerned.

“Is everything alright?”

Debbie nods, anxious not to leave her mom panicking. 

“Yes- he’s withdrawn the custody application. I’m going to let him have Randy every other weekend.”

With a little scream, her mom leaps to her feet, and then hugs are happening, even as Randy wakes up and starts crying in all the commotion.

Debbie reaches out to Ruth, who rolls her eyes with a smile, but allows herself be pulled into the hug. Debbie clears her throat, and says, “Also, mom, there’s no real way of easing you into this one, so… I’ve been happy because Ruth has been making me happy. We’re… I don’t know, but Ruth has been making me happy. She’s- I’m-“

Her mom seems to find fresh tears in all of this, and starts shushing Debbie as she struggles for words.

“I know, Debbie, I already know, you always think I don’t know anything but- oh this is the best day!”

It takes a long time to get to the coffees.

…

Debbie leaves Randy with her mom.

Ruth clears her throat a little awkwardly in the car afterwards, as they drive away.

“I can’t believe you just… outed us to your mom without any warning.”

Debbie shrugs. “Hey, I just figured you were mad with me for… you know, not acknowledging my feelings, so I thought if I acknowledged them for once you’d be… less mad?”

Debbie grins hopefully at Ruth with the end of this sentence. Ruth laughs despite herself, and then says “You are…”

“Charming, just an fyi. The word you are looking for is charming.”

Ruth snorts, and then reaches over to Debbie, brushing her fingers over her cheek. She then sighs. 

“Okay. Let’s go somewhere and… talk.”

Sounds good, Debbie thinks.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god I'm so close to finishing this.
> 
> Okay so. Patios. Etc.
> 
> yotoob.tumblr.com
> 
> I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR no but seriously I felt it was about time that Ruth was allowed to be angry with Debbie. It was extremely satisfying to write. 
> 
> TELL ME THINGS.


	34. The Non-Verbal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. See end for more notes.

Chapter Thirty Four - The Non-Verbal

They end up in Debbie’s room, at the hopeless little motel that has somehow become home. 

It’s as though Ruth is standing outside herself. She’s vaguely aware that she’s feeling a great deal of things, in a number of different directions. And yet, here in the centre, there’s a maddening calm. Ruth would like very much to be feeling some more of anything, rather than this… blankness.

She’d surprised herself, in the changing rooms. Because it turned out - who knew? - it turned out that Ruth was almost as furious with Debbie as Debbie has been with Ruth, all along. But Ruth has had more time to process the fury, distill it, until she had almost stopped noticing that it was there at all, so eager was she for some kind of resolution, _any_ kind of resolution with Debbie.

Mark _knew_? He knew all along and he still married Debbie? Ruth is… furious with him, because who does that? And then he _slept_ with Ruth? To make a point? Ruth hopes that she doesn’t have to have a conversation with Mark any time soon, because she might legitimately try to kill him.

Debbie’s standing next to her, looking concerned, and… solicitous? The world has gone mad. _Debbie_ is treading carefully around _her_?

“Hey, do you… want a glass of water, or something? I could go and get you something from the machine - a soda?”

She’s been so angry with Debbie, and she didn’t even notice it. All these years. Ruth rubs her forehead with her fingertips, and then tries to smile, but she knows it’s a wobbly, hopeless attempt.

“It’s stupid isn’t it, how crap I am at being angry with people? You’ve got it down to a fine art, you’re like a thunder storm, and I’m just, god, I just want to cry on you some more even though it’s you who I’m … okay, I’m not responsible for any words that are coming out of my mouth right now, because I’m just, god, _rambling_ about shit that I didn’t raise _at the fucking time_ because that would have been too simple, oh no, classic Ruth, useless at _all things-_ ”

Debbie interrupts her at this point, whilst gently nudging her to the bed to get her to sit down.

“Okay, okay, shhh, it’s okay.” 

Ruth sits on the bed, and Debbie kneels in front of her. Debbie seems…a little frazzled, and pinches the bridge of her nose before speaking.

“It doesn’t have to be… you know that two people can be angry with each other at the same time? It’s not that one person is angry and the other people is only allowed to feel guilty. Just because I have been dealing with stuff doesn’t mean that you have to be regretful for the rest of your life? You are allowed… god what did Mark say? You are entitled to your anger.”

Ruth snorts at that, and asks “Do you think we should ask Mark’s therapist to come chat with us?”

Debbie rolls her eyes at Ruth, and then says “Well no, but uh, if you do want to talk to, someone… I mean, I talk to Cherry a lot. Kinda.”

Ruth smiles softly, and then says “Yeah, I guess. Carmen, maybe, or… god help me, I think Sheila might legitimately be my friend, and she was… when you turned up with Sam that first time when he’d dragged you in from home, she was trying to coach me in the finer arts of not enraging you with my body language.”

Debbie snorts, and then smiles. “Oh god is that what you were doing? I thought you were faking some kind of injury to make me feel bad. As though I’d injured you in our first fight.”

Ruth grins at that, and says “I should have guessed that you didn’t actually want to kill me from the way you didn’t kill me. You just-”

“Sat on you and scrabbled around?” Debbie bites her lip, smiling at herself. “You know, if we hadn’t had so many witnesses I’d have probably ended up trying to make out with you. After yelling some, and uh. Crying.”

Ruth presses her lips together, and smiles because Debbie is just… extremely Debbie right now, and Ruth can’t remember a time when she wasn’t in love.

“That would have- I mean, that would have certainly sped up this whole emotional rollercoaster we’ve been on.”

A thought seems to strike Debbie, and her face goes still for a moment. And then she frowns a little.

“If you hadn’t slept with Mark, I would still be in that marriage. And we would be… nowhere. Forever.”

Ruth doesn’t know what to do with that, because it isn’t an excuse for doing it, but, god, it’s a relief when good things come out of terrible, catastrophic decisions. 

Debbie scoots closer to her after a second. She wraps her arms around Ruth’s waist, and rests her head on Ruth’s chest. Ruth wonders what her heart rate is doing, because it must be loud and insistent in Debbie’s ears.

She runs a hand through Debbie’s hair, and Debbie lets her. 

“I don’t think I need to speak to Sheila, or Carmen, or any of them. I just want to speak to you.”

…

They end up in bed together.

It wasn’t a lie, when Ruth had said that they deal best in the non-verbal. But she wants that to change, and so she clamps down on all her impulses to just reach across and pull Debbie towards her. Debbie isn’t making any move to find comfort in the physical either, and they just lie on their sides, facing each other as they talk.

Debbie is speaking, about things Ruth didn’t even realise she needed to hear.

“And I was so mad with you. When we first met, and you were, god you were such a nerd. You _are_ such a nerd…”

“Thanks.” Ruth interrupts, wryly. Debbie half shrugs and smiles. When she carries on, she speaks slowly, as though choosing each word carefully.

“But you were… I don’t know, you weren’t like any of my other friends, but I couldn’t stop… thinking about you, or talking about you. My mom was always saying, “okay sweetie, we get it, you like your new friend…”

Ruth bites her lip, because the idea of Debbie talking about her non-stop is unexpectedly sweet, and Ruth doesn’t often associate Debbie with the word sweet. Debbie looks awkward, and does that awkward parade of faces she always does, as though she knows what Ruth is thinking.

“Whatever. But you were… I don’t know, my other friends were way cooler but I couldn’t stop, just… I don’t know. You were just, everywhere in my head, and I couldn’t understand why, and I was really mad about it, whenever you weren’t there.”

Ruth doesn’t want to say anything, in case Debbie stops talking. 

“And then, uh, one day I was like, _oh wait_ , it’s because I want to kiss you. _Duh._ And then I was really mad with you because you definitely weren’t like any of my previous boyfriends, but I just couldn’t stop… wanting to kiss you.”

Ruth remembers the way that Debbie had lunged towards her, that first time. But just before that, Debbie had almost been shouting at her, for reasons that Ruth can’t fully remember. Debbie clears her throat, and there’s a blush starting on her neck, creeping up towards her face.

“And so, I started dating Mark. Because he was there and not completely offensive. But I couldn’t shut you out, and then one night it was all too much, and I kissed you, and, well.”

It’s so vivid. Ruth can even remember the lines the characters were saying on Paradise Cove, as Debbie had ground herself down onto Ruth’s lap and moaned in her ears.

“You were… it was really fucking hot.”

Debbie rolls her eyes a bit as if to say _well obviously_ , and then continues.

“But I freaked out, and just, made, every worst decision I could possibly make, and hid from you, and ended up married to Mark out of sheer fucking panic, and… I don’t know. You hadn’t said anything, and hadn’t called me, and it all just added up to the apocalypse in my head.”

Ruth gnaws at her thumb, a little fretful, because it seems that maybe if she’d made some different decisions back then, they’d all be in a different place. 

“Well. Uh. I didn’t call, because, I didn’t know what to say. I thought you were mad at me. And, you, I mean. I know I didn’t call you, but you got _married-_ ”

Debbie actually does reach out for her this time, and runs her palm up the bare skin of Ruth’s arm.

“It’s on me, it wasn’t your fault. You just tried to make the best of the shitty situation I had backed us into. I’m sorry Ruth. I’m really sorry.”

The apology lifts a weight from Ruth she hadn’t ever really known was there. Ruth blinks several times, fighting the tears, and then presses her face into the pillow, momentarily.

“I’ve been trying… god, for what feels like my whole life to justify why I slept with Mark, you know. Just to myself. But I can’t explain it other than… I wanted you. But you were with Mark, and he was no good for you, and I just couldn’t- I just couldn’t say that to you. So, god, somehow I ended up sleeping with him as a way of showing I was mad with you… but that isn’t…enough. It’s not a good enough reason, and I _don’t_ have a good enough reason, and I’m so angry with myself about it-”

Debbie sighs, and then says “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care any more, I don’t need you to find a better explanation-”

“But I should have one for you-”

Debbie shifts towards her, and kisses Ruth with intent, so much intent Ruth almost sobs.

“Okay, we’re… I mean. Talking is good, but.”

Ruth nods a few times, and then they’re kissing, and she’s pulling Debbie’s clothes off her, and Debbie’s helping Ruth out of her own clothes, and they’re kissing, oh god they’re kissing. 

Ruth keeps trying to apologise, but Debbie keeps shushing her. It’s only when Debbie’s fingers find the wetness between Ruth’s legs that she actually stops apologising, and even then that’s only because Debbie whispers _oh fuck_ in such a reverent way that all of Ruth’s thoughts disengage.

Debbie rearranges herself carefully, and reaches down to put her mouth on Ruth’s breast. Ruth swears, and puts her hand in Debbie’s hair, but she can’t decide if it is to push her away or hold her there. Debbie must sense the conflict after a moment, because she raises her head, and grins at Ruth.

“You going to give me some direction here, or do I have to just guess?”

Debbie’s fingers are working gently upon her, and Ruth _hates_ this, hates how her brain completely dissolves at these moments and ruins her repartee skills.

“Just… oh god… just, you know. Do things.”

Debbie grins at her, and then suddenly grows serious.

“Get on top of me.”

It’s not the request, so much as the way Debbie says it, that makes Ruth realise what is really going on. She bites her lip. 

“What, like-”

Debbie nods. “Yeah. Like you were with him.”

They haven't done this yet. Ruth doesn’t know if it is a conscious or unconscious avoidance, but. 

Debbie lies down on the bed, and Ruth… Ruth climbs on top of her.

It’s hot, but it’s all too- Debbie looks really serious, and Ruth bites her lip, suddenly nervous.

Debbie cranes up, abruptly, and half pulls Ruth down into a kiss. She whispers onto Ruth’s lips. “I hope he knows how lucky he was. God, you’re so fucking hot, and he does not deserve…”

Ruth kisses her back, and moves in an automatic sort of way, and suddenly it is okay again.

Debbie reaches her hand down, and presses her fingers upwards into Ruth until she’s gasping. Debbie’s eyes are completely blown, and she’s just staring at Ruth’s body, slack jawed with desire. And _this_ is what Ruth had been seeking out. She feels…

“God Ruth, you’re incredible.”

Ruth moans a little, and starts rocking down into Debbie’s hand with more purpose. Debbie’s free hand is on her butt, and then is on her tits, and Ruth’s going to come really hard, and _soon_ , she can just tell.

“God, Debbie… I wanted you, I wanted you-“

Debbie nods, and there’s a frown of concentration on her brow that would be adorable if they hadn’t left adorable behind several pages ago, and were now into just really fucking hot.

“I know baby, I know, oh fuck you feel so good, god I’m so-”

Debbie’s free hand disappears between her _own_ legs, and she moans hard at however she has just touched herself, and even though Ruth has lost a point of contact the whole thing is about four thousand times sexier. Ruth drops her head forward, and puts her hands on Debbie’s shoulders, bracing herself as she rides forward even harder.

Debbie moans, long and hard, and Ruth can feel the movement of Debbie’s other hand now, and she’s going really fast, to try and keep pace with Ruth.

“God, baby, you’re so good… he was, nothing like-”

Ruth loses the ability to speak. After a moment, Debbie manages to prop herself up on one of her elbows, and kisses at Ruth’s mouth.

“No, you’re right, he was terrible in bed.”

It’s said in such a matter of fact way that Ruth can’t help but half laugh, but then that turns into a moan, and then the orgasm hits. 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ruth shudders above Debbie, and tries to ride it out for as long as possible. Debbie looks up at her with wide eyes, and after a few seconds, she arches up into Ruth, and moans long and hard. Debbie’s orgasm means that she can’t concentrate on what her hand is doing to Ruth, and so Ruth comes down earlier than she wanted, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. 

This is everything that Ruth has ever wanted.

“I’m sorry” she whispers, as Debbie still whimpers her way through her final moments of orgasm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant to sleep with him…”

Debbie blinks her eyes open, and then looks at her, before smiling and shushing her.

“What are you even… shh, come here.”

Ruth collapses down into her, and Debbie wraps her arms around her.

“It’s fine, it’s fine… you don’t need to… I’m sorry as well. It’s fine. You- if you hadn’t slept with him, we wouldn’t be here. It’s fine. I’m okay. You can stop apologising for it.”

The tears come then, filling up Ruth’s eyes. She kisses Debbie, and then kisses her again.

“I’m so in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

Debbie kisses her back, gently, as though it’s the first time she’s ever allowed herself to.

“God, I didn’t think we would ever get here, but yeah. Me too. I love you too.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTUAL NOTES - So I'd finished this chapter a while ago, but then I wasn't happy with it, so it needed to go through extreme editing. 
> 
> Though I'm not completely happy with it, I think it is the best I can do for these two wrestler idiots, so here it is.
> 
> I've got half an epilogue written, but this is definitely the end. There's no more processing for Debbie and Ruth to do. I've officially solved the rubix cube.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read some, part, or all of this. Extreme thanks to the people who were leaving comments, you are the BEST, and I wouldn't have finished it without you. I'll see you all for season 2. 
> 
> (If you feel like saying anything, come find me on tumblr. yotoob.tumblr.com. If you are searching for a way to do more than say thank you, my kofi is over there. Maybe you could all club together and buy me some patio furniture idk.)
> 
> (BETTY IF YOU ARE READING THIS I LOVE YOU)
> 
> SPONSORED BY YOU KNOW WHOMST NOT


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